I  I 


THE 


YOUNG   PARSON, 


THE 


YOUNG   PARSON, 


"There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Than  are  dream'd  of  in  our  philosophy."  —  Hamlet. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
SMITH,    ENGLISH    &    CO., 

No.  23  NORTH  SIXTH  STREET. 

1863. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1862,  by 
SMITH,    ENGLISH    &    CO., 

Jn  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the  Eastern 
District  of  Pennsylvania. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE    TRIAL   SERMON 9 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE    ELECTION    OF    A    PASTOR. 17 

CHAPTER    III. 

THE    YOUNG    PARSON    "GITS    SETTLED"    AND    IS    INTRODUCED   TO    THE 


PEOPLE 23 

CHAPTER    IV. 

HARD    WORK 33 

CHAPTER   V. 

THE    TWO    HOLIDAYS 40 

CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    SOCIETY   IN   AND    AROUND    GAINFIELD 50 

CHAPTER  VII. 

VISITING   THE    COUNTRY    MEMBERS 57 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

THRILLING    INCIDENTS  66 

CHAPTER    IX. 

BALLS,  AND  HOW  THE  PARSON  COUNTENANCED  THEM 73 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE  YOUNG  PARSON  BECOMES  A  BON  OF  JUBAL 80 

CHAPTER    XI. 

"GREAT  EXPECTATIONS"  —  THE  LOVE  PART  OF  THE  STORY  BEGINS 

—  TUB  HEROINE  ENTERS .«,...•>. 86 

1*  (v) 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XII. 
THE  REHEARSAL:  A  DILEMMA 99 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE    TRIBULATIONS    OP   ELDER   STRAPIRON 105 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

MUSICAL  AND    STRATEGICAL 113 

CHAPTER    XV. 
MEAGRB'S  DISCIPLE 122 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

MR.  MONGREL   AND   HIS   FAMILY 129 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

MR.  MONGREL   AND   THE   TWO    PHYSICIANS 134 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

WITCHCRAFT , 144 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

PHARISAISM , 156 

CHAPTER    XX. 

MONGREL   ON   TRIAL 161 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

"us  MINISTERS" — THE  MODERN  MARTYR 172 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

TOM    HICKMAN  —  MEZZOFANTI   AND   THE   TWO   NEOPHYTES 185 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

A   DRIVE   WITH  TOM   HICKMAN  —  FAITH 193 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

EFFORTS    TO   PLEASE    THE    PEOPLE  —  SPECIMEN    BRICKS — NO.    1.      A 

PRESSED   BRICK 203 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

EFFORTS    TO    PLEASE    THE     PEOPLE  —  SPECIMEN   BRICKS  —  Ha  2.   A 

BRICK    OF    A   YARN,    IN    BATS  —  FIRST   PART   OF   THE    BRICK 206 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

EFFORTS     TO     PLEASE     THE     PEOPLE  —  SPECIMEN     BRICKS NO.  2.   A 

LITTLE   PIECE   NECESSARY   TO   MAKE    THE    PARTS    FIT   TOGETHER...    215 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 

EFFORTS    TO    PLEASE    THE    PEOPLE  —  SPECIMEN   BRICKS  —  NO.  2.    THE 

OTHER   END    OF   THE   BRICK 221 

CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

UNFRIENDLY   RELATIONS — TONY   TOMPK1NS  —  A  BRICK   IN   HIS    HAT.    233 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

OPEN   HOSTILITIES 237 

CHAPTER   XXX. 

EFFORTS   TO   PLEASB    THE   LITTLE    FOLKS 241 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 

CONSEQUENCES 247 

CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE    RECONCILIATION 253 

CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

DAYID   EARLY   AND    HIS    REQUEST 265 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

SELF-CONDEMNATION 275 

CHAPTER   XXXV. 

THE  ROAD  TO  PHCEBE's  HOUSE 279 

CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

LITTLE   PHCEBB,   THE   CRIPPLE  — THE   FIRST  INTERVIEW 283 

CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

LITTLE  PHOCBE,  THE  CRIPPLE —  HOW  WAS  SHE  TO  BE  TAUGHT?  — 
A  CALL  AT  DR.  ARLINGTON'S 297 


Viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

FURTHER   CRITICISMS  —  PLEASANTRY 303 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

PHCEBE   AT   CHURCH  —  TRIPLE    ALLIANCE 310 

CHAPTER   XL. 

ANOTHER    CONVERSATION 316 

CHAPTER   XLI. 

PHCEBE   LEARNING 321 

CHAPTER    XLII. 

PHCEBK    AS    A    CHRISTIAN 327 

CHAPTER    XLIII. 

THB   PICTURES —  PHCEBE'S    SUGGESTIONS 332 

CHAPTER    XLIV. 

DIVINE    GRACE   ILLUSTRATED 337 

CHAPTER    XLV. 
PHCEBE'S  NEW  SORROW 344 

CHAPTER   XLVI. 

THE    GOLD   BECOMES    Dili 347 

CHAPTER    XLVII. 

THE    FEMALE    SEWING   SOCIETY 351 

CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

NEEDLES    AND    THORNS 354 

CHAPTER    XLIX. 

THE    CHOIR 365 

CHAPTER    L. 

THK    RESIGNATION 368 

CHAPTER    LI. 

BOWLINGS    AND    BLEAT1NGS    AFTER  A    SHEPHERD 372 


THE 


YOUNG  PARSON. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    TRIAL    SERMON. 

THE  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  had  accepted  an  invita- 
tion to  preach  a  "trial  sermon"  before  the  Gainfield 
congregation;  or,  in  other  words,  had  consented  to 
visit  the  people  for  exhibition  twice  on  Sunday,  at 
the  usual  hours  for  Divine  service,  yclept  in  some 
places  "religious  exercises"  and  "meetin'."  Due 
notice  had  been  given  in  the  town  paper  that  he 
would  "exercise  his  gift"  and  display  himself  gener- 
ally ;  and  a  full  and  punctual  attendance  was  re- 
quested, in  order  that  the  people  might  pronounce 
upon  the  man  and  his  performance.  Several  other 
candidates  for  popular  favor,  and  for  the  congrega- 
tion's promise  to  pay  two  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  a 
year,  had  been  there  ;  but  as  Providence  decided  that 
they  should  not  accept  "the  call,"  these  simply  had 
various  places  assigned  them,  like  Dante's  heroes,  in 

(9) 


10  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

the  minds  of  the  people,  only  liable  to  be  summoned 
forth  for  purposes  of  comparison  and  contrast. 

It  was  now  thought  that  some  immediate  action 
was  required  for  the  good  of  the  congregation.  The 
letter  to  Mr.  Meagre  said:  "The  sacred  oracles  have 
long  been  dumb.  Zion  is  languishing;  our  church 
is  in  debt,  and  our  people  scattered  like  sheep  with- 
out a  shepherd.  The  ministers  of  our  church  around 
here  say  it  is  a  shame  we  can't  keep  a  minister 
longer.  But  no  one  ever  stayed  over  two  years 
since  the  time  of  old  Mr.  Huguenot.  He  built  the 
church,  you  know;  but  he  had  so  many  funerals  that 
bad  winter,  that  he  got  the  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs 
right  in  the  pulpit,  which  our  people  didn't  like  in  him, 
and  so  we  thought  we  had  better  get  a  stronger  man." 

Some  one  had  said  that  Mr.  Meagre  was  a  "  fust 
rate  preacher  for  so  young  a  man ;  would  set  in  almost 
anywhere,  and  was  always  ready  to  take  good  advice ;" 
by  which  it  was  understood  that  a  young  man  whose 
abilities  were  reputed  to  be  respectable,  was  willing 
to  come  there  and  do  just  what  anybody  would  tell 
him  to  do.  It  was  therefore  almost  a  foregone  con- 
clusion with  the  members  of  the  congregation  that 
they  would  elect  Mr.  Meagre,  if  he  was  "  anything 
like."  Of  this  they  were  to  be  the  proper  judges, 
and  an  opportunity  was  to  be  afforded  to  them  to  ex- 
amine the  article  for  themselves.  They  could  have 
an  evidence  of  his  existence  sufficient  to  satisfy  a  St. 
Thomas,  measure  his  mental  calibre,  guage  his  ortho- 
doxy, estimate  his  piety,  and  pronounce  upon  his  suit- 


THE    TRIAL    SERMON.  11 

ability  for  all  coming  time.  One  thing  had  prepos- 
sessed them  in  his  favor.  A  ministerial  brother  who 
sustained  some  pecuniary  losses  among  them,  said  upon 
apparent  authority  that  Mr.  Meagre's  father  was  rich. 
He  had  sent  his  son  through  two  colleges  without  a  bit 
of  help  from  the  Board  of  Education,  and  therefore 
ought  to  have  the  privilege  of  supporting  him  as  a 
missionary  somewhere.  Besides  this,  Mr.  Meagre,  it 
was  said,  was  heir  to  a  large  fortune  from  his  mother, 
which  no  one  else  could  touch ;  and  it  was  argued  that 
"  all  this  might  be  an  advantage  to  a  congregation  as 
bad  off  as  this  one." 

Upon  hearing  of  this,  a  good-humored  smile  played 
over  the  face  of  Mr.  Meagre's  father,  who  was  a  little 
severe  upon  anything  that  might  beget  self-compla- 
cency in  his  children.  "My  boy,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  "  your  parchments  are  the  only  evidence 
I  have  that  you  have  been  through  two  colleges.  We 
have  a  calf  in  the  barn-yard  that  old  Jim  says  has 
sucked  two  cows :  it  is  a  very  big  —  calf.  All  the 
cows  on  the  plantation  could  not  make  a  lion  out  of 
it.  I  do  not  know  but  that  you  will  be  a  dear  bargain 
for  any  people,  even  if  some  one  else  pays  your  ex- 
penses. But  if  the  Gainfield  congregation  wants  you, 
and  you  think  you  can  do  any  goodj  say  that  you  will 
go.  I  have  always  told  you  that  your  Christian  nur- 
ture and  education  were  to  be  your  only  outfit  from 
home,  but  while  I  have  anything  you  shall  never  go 
hungry  nor  ragged.  Remember,  however,  that  if  all 
your  mother's  children  cost  me  as  much  as  you  havo 


12  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

done,  instead  of  getting  a  large  estate  by  entail,  you 
will  hardly  have  the  tail  end  of  an  estate.  God  bless 
you,  and  make  you  humble,  useful,  and  happy."  The 
invitation  was  accordingly  accepted,  as  already  stated. 
And  now  having  accepted  the  invitation  to  preach  the 
"  trial  sermon,"  Mr.  Meagre's  next  duty  was  to  go  and 
preach  it.  He  arrived  in  Gainfield  on  Saturday  evening, 
was  met  at  the  cars,  and  carried  off  bag  and  baggage 
to  the  house  of  Mr.  Absalom  Strapiron.  It  was  soon 
known  that  the  preacher  had  come.  The  children 
peeped  in  at  him  through  the  crack  of  the  door  until 
those  behind,  in  their  eagerness  to  get  a  sight,  pushed 
those  before  into  the  room,  and  then  the  whole  herd 
scampered  off  as  if  a  tribe  of  Indians  was  after  them. 
The  remarks  made  loud  enough  to  be  heard  in  the 
room  where  Mr.  Meagre  sat,  were  queer  enough. 
While  under  his  ancestral  roof,  where  Mr.  Meagre 
was  not  required  to  pay  his  own  bills,  as  many  a  more 
worthy  young  man  has  to  do,  good  clothes  were  so 
common  that  they  never  called  forth  a  remark  of  any 
kind,  except  when  Petit's  first  high  hat  was  sent  in, 
on  which  occasion  one  of  his  younger  brothers  said  it 
was  "  so  slick,  that  if  a  fly  should  try  to  alight  on  it, 
that  fly  would  slip  and  break  its  neck."  In  Gainfield, 
however,  the  glossy  black  clothes  of  the  young  preacher 
fully  corroborated  the  idea  that  he  must  be  well  off. 
Besides  these,  he  wore  patent-leather  boots,  and  had 
a  silk  umbrella  and  a  gold  watch.  A  little  boy  who 
wore  his  father's  gum  shoes  in  dry  weather,  brought 
a  pitcher  of  water  into  Mr.  Meagre's  room,  and  re- 


THETRIALSERMON.  13 

ported  to  his  mother  afterwards  that  he  "  saw  lots  of 
things."  "  That  man,"  he  said,  "had  on  a  wrapper 
and  worked  slippers ;  his  coat  was  on  the  bed,  and  is 
all  lined  with  silk  sewed  like  flowers.  He  has  a  gold 
pencil,  a  pearl-handled  knife,  and  a  bead  purse  with 
something  yaller  in  it ;  they  were  all  out  on  the  stand. 
I  picked  up  the  purse  to  look  at  it,  and  he  took  it  from 
me  just  to  give  me  ten  cents,  you  know,  and  then  put 
it  in  his  pocket." 

At  tea,  the  children,  about  a  baker's  dozen  in  all, 
would  put  a  spoonful  of  mush  to  their  mouths,  look  first 
at  the  young  clergyman's  feet,  then  at  one  another  and 
snicker,  till  their  maternal  put  six  or  eight  of  them 
through  a  process  she  called  "smacking,"  and  sent 
them  into  the  kitchen  till  prayer  time.  Albeit  Mr. 
Meagre  wore  his  clothes  as  if  all  unconscious  of  the 
fact  that  they  were  the  subject  of  any  remark.  Noth- 
ing of  importance  occurred  during  the  evening,  ex- 
cept that  Mr.  Strapiron  tried  to  prevail  on  the  new 
minister  to  "  stay  over  Monday  and  visit  the  people. 
Deacon  Green  mout  tote  you  round."  But  Mr.  Meagre, 
though  just  rising  twenty-two,  and  aware  that  the  peo- 
ple did  not  expect  to  "  buy  a  pig  in  a  poke,"  felt  that  he 
had  already  compromised  himself  by  coming  to  preach 
the  trial  sermon ;  so  he  promptly  and  steadily  declined. 

Sunday  morning  came.  Mrs.  Strapiron  put  on  her 
stockings  and  white  crape  shawl,  and  the  whole  family 
went  to  the  church.  Mr.  Meagre  walked  mechanically 
with  the  daughter,  whereupon  an  old  woman  and  two 
giddy  girls  who  joined  them  on  the  way,  grew  face- 
2 


14  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

tious,  and  wondered  if  anything  would  come  out  of  it. 
Up  the  aisle  moved  Mr.  Meagre.  The  whole  congre- 
gation looked  towards  the  door  as  he  entered  the 
house,  the  choir  peeped  down  over  the  gallery,  and 
he  felt  that  he  was  the  observed  of  all  observers. 

The  platform  of  the  pulpit  was  just  two  feet  and 
four  inches  wide,  in  which  space  an  old-fashioned  settee 
was  placed,  leaving  room  enough  for  a  man  to  crowd 
in  sidewise.  The  front  of  this  noble  piece  of  archi- 
tecture was  so  high  that  Mr.  Meagre  could  scarcely 
see  over  the  top  of  it ;  but  some  one,  in  anticipation 
of  the  difficulty,  had  furnished  an  eight-by-ten  glass- 
box  for  him  to  stand  upon.  This  he  used,  holding  on 
to  the  Bible-board  to  maintain  his  balance. 

Now  in  this  thing  of  preaching  a  trial  sermon,  a 
minister  might  take  an  unholy  advantage  of  a  congre- 
gation. Rev.  Petit  Meagre,  for  instance,  might  have 
committed  two  of  Mason's  best,  practised  them  in  the 
woods,  declaimed  them  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  out 
the  idea  that  he  was  a  star  of  pretty  considerable 
magnitude,  and  thus  been  elected  pastor  before  any 
one  could  say  the  "jackdaw  struts  in  borrowed 
plumes."  But  Rev.  Petit  was  conscientious,  and  had 
six  sermons  of  his  own,  written  perhaps,  alas !  too 
much  like  sophomoric  orations,  but  thought  over 
carefully,  and  prayed  over  earnestly ;  and  he  delivered 
the  message  contained  in  the  one  selected  for  that 
occasion,  honestly,  humbly,  and  fervently.  That 
there  were  some  drawbacks  that  day,  he  did  not  deny. 
His  disposition  to  look  at  the  ridiculous  side  of  every- 


THE    TRIAL    SERMON.  15 

thing  haunted  him  like  an  evil  genius,  and  it  required 
frequent  acts  of  self-recollection  to  resist  it.  Stand- 
ing on  one  foot,  as  the  narrowness  of  his  box  fre- 
quently led  him  to  do,  he  longed  for  a  perch,  and  a 
claw,  and  for  a  wing,  that  he  might  draw  up  the  other 
foot  under  it;  and  as  the  box  moved  and  sometimes 
began  to  tilt,  he  could  not  help  reflecting  on  the 
terrible  result  should  he  pitch  over  the  pulpit,  espe- 
cially as  Miss  Strapiron  sat  just  where  he  would  fall, 
her  mouth  very  wide  open,  as  if  she  anticipated  the 
probability  of  such  a  result,  and  was  prepared  to 
swallow  him  —  patent-leather  boots,  gold  watch,  and 
all.  He  marked  with  alarm  that  once  as  he  was 
almost  gone,  her  eyes  dilated  and  her  mouth  ex- 
panded, and  she  seemed  to  rise  slightly.  Terror- 
stricken,  he  hung  to  the  edge  of  the  desk,  like  a  drown- 
ing mariner  to  a  rock.  Such  thoughts  were  the  flies 
in  the  ointment.  Besides,  he  felt  that  those  before 
him  came  there  not  as  humble  worshippers,  or  as  those 
anxious  to  learn  the  truth,  but  as  critics  to  form  an 
estimate  of  him.  He  was  merely  sitting  for  a  da- 
guerreotype, and  the  holy  solemnities  of  his  office 
seemed  almost  reduced  to  a  farcical  show. 

But  the  "speakin'  was  fust  rate."  This  was  the 
opinion  not  only  of  the  members,  but  of  others  who 
heard  it.  Old  Brother  Surcingle  of  a  "sister  de- 
nomination" was  there  that  day.  His  own  pastor 
had  preached  from  notes  the  Sunday  before  —  the 
only  time  he  ever  did  it,  to  be  sure,  but  Brother  Sur- 
cingle was  seeking  a  place  where  it  was  never  done. 


1G  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

As  he  was  very  near-sighted,  and  Mr.  Meagre  did  not 
display  his  manuscript  very  palpably,  it  was  concluded 
that  Mr.  Meagre  had  none.  Satisfied  upon  this  point, 
Brother  Surcingle  went  to  sleep,  and  awoke  when  the 
congregation  arose  to  prayer,  greatly  refreshed  by  the 
sermon, —  of  course.  The  young  brother  had  made  a 
"powerful  effort."  Brother  Surcingle  even  waited 
till  he  came  from  the  pulpit,  to  be  introduced  to  him, 
complimented  him,  and  hoped  he  would  lend  a  listen- 
ing ear  to  the  Macedonian  cry.  "  If  only  we  had 
such  a  preacher.  I  tell  you  what ! "  and  here  he  gave 
a  w'-h-e-w  that  fell  little  short  of  a  long,  loud  whistle. 
Now,  as  Brother  Surcingle's  pastor  was  the  best 
preacher  in  the  State  ;  so  faithful  and  beloved,  that  he 
had  been  gradually  emptying  some  of  the  other  churches 
in  the  town,  these  expressions  were  thought  to  indicate 

great  expectations  as  to  what  Mr.  Meagre  would  do. 

Chrysostom  was    to    be   out-Chrysostomed,  and    the 

"  largest  bear  in  the  country"  was  to  be  displaced  by 

a  still  "lager  beer." 

The  young  brother's  determination  to  leave  early 

on  the  next  morning  had  probably  been  announced ; 

for  as  he  followed  the  congregation  out  of  the  church, 

the  choir  struck  up  that  eminently  churchly  tune : 

"I'm  a  pilgrim,  I'm  a  stranger, 
I  can  tarry,  I  can  tarry  but  a  night." 

When  old  Brother  Huguenot  heard  of  this,  he  said  : 
"That  congregation  always  had  nice  ideas  of  pro- 
priety. Once  when  I  entered  the  church  to  begin  the 


THE  ELECTION  OF  A  PASTOK.     17 

i 

morning  service,  the  choir  struck  up  the  well-known 
'  Dismission  Hymn'  to  the  tune  of  '  Days  of  Absence.' 
However,  Brother  Meagre,  as  there  is  to  be  an  elec- 
tion next  week,  you  may  have  an  opportunity  here- 
after to  see  more  of  the  little  flock." 


CHAPTEE   II. 

THE    ELECTION    OF    A    PASTOR. 

THE  Gainfield  congregation  having  determined  to 
hold  a  meeting  "to  elect  a  pastor,"  Rev.  Mr.  Huguenot, 
who  had  a  neighboring  church,  and  who  felt  an  interest 
in  the  Gainfield  people  although  they  had  treated  him 
badly,  was  invited  to  be  present,  and  see  that  all  things 
went  rightly.  Electing  pastors  was  not  an  uncommon 
thing  with  the  flock  at  that  place,  but  it  had  a  knack 
of  doing  everything  in  the  wrong  way ;  and  the  Synod 
had  threatened  to  interpose  with  its  authority  unless 
more  regard  was  paid  to  the  rules  of  the  Church.  To 
Mr.  Huguenot,  therefore,  was  assigned  the  duty  of 
Major-General,  to  direct  the  affairs  of  the  meeting. 

The  people  had  assembled  "  according  to  appoints 
ment,"  and  Mr.  Huguenot  told  a  young  deacon  to 
move  that  old  Mr.  Holland,  the  elder,  take  the  chair ; 
to  which  Mr.  Holland  replied,  "1  can  set  jest  as  good 
on  the  bench,  like  on  the  cheer;"  but  upon  being 


18  THE    YOUNG    PARSOK. 

« 

made  acquainted  with  the  dignity  conferred  upon  him, 
he  assumed  it  with  an  air  that  no  one  can  appreciate 
without  knowing  the  man.  A  resolution  was  then 
offered,  to  go  into  an  election  for  a  pastor. 

*'  Put  the  motion,"  said  Mr.  Huguenot  to  Mr.  Hol- 
land. 

"Foot  it  yourself,  can't  you? "'said  Mr.  Holland. 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  you  are  the  chairman." 

"Well!  ain't  you  a  breacher?"  asked  the  presi- 
dent, triumphantly.  History  has  not  recorded  Mr. 
Huguenot's  reply,  but  he  succeeded  in  obtaining  an 
affirmative  vote  on  the  question,  perhaps  without  get- 
ting Mr.  Holland  to  understand  fully  the  prerogatives 
and  duties  of  his  office. 

The  licentiate,  Rev.  Petit  Meagre,  was  then  put  in 
nomination,  and  an  opportunity  afforded  for  remarks. 
There  was  silence  for  the  space  of  five  minutes,  al- 
though several  persons  present  evidently  had  something 
weighty  on  their  minds.  Miss  Smartley  whispered 
to  her  friend,  that  she  hoped  Mr.  Meagre  would  be 
elected  ;  her  cousin  went  to  the  same  seminary,  and 
he  said  of  all  the  licenshes  who  left  this  year,  Mr. 
Meagre  was  the  best.  Old  Mr.  Huggermugger  ad- 
dressed the  meeting  first,  without  rising  from  his  seat. 
He  said,  "  Some  of  the  Episcopals  say  that  this  Mea- 
gre is  purty  much  for  high  church.  For  my  part  I 
think  the  church  is  high  enough.  It's  no  use  to  finish 
that  steeple.  I  think  all  them  bad  steps  out  front  of 
the  meetin'  house  make  my  rumatiz  worse ;  but  my 
old  woman  says  the  school-house  down  stairs  ought  to 


THE  ELECTION  OF  A  PASTOR.     19 

be  cleaned.  I  go  aginst  a  high  church,  and  want  the 
Sunday-school  whitewashed." 

Here  Mr.  Strapiron  arose.  "  The  new  minister's 
hands  don't  look  as  if  he  had  ever  worked  much,  and 
his  kid  gloves  are  just  like  a  girl's."  He  was  about 
to  enlarge  on  this  general  subject,  when  a  look  from 
his  wife,  that  seemed  to  be  a  reminder,  brought  him 
to  a  halt.  It  appears  that  Mr.  Strapiron  had  been  a 
convert  to  something  of  the  kind  himself  once  in  his 
life.  When  his  third  wife  died  he  denounced  black 
cotton,  and  declined  a  hearse  to  go  a  mile,  on  the 
ground  that  such  things  "gendered  to  pride."  But 
six  weeks  afterwards,  when  he  married  the  present 
Mrs.  Strapiron,  who  was  thirty  years  his  junior,  he 
wore  kids  himself,  and  brought  her  home  in  a  carriage, 
although  the  distance  was  only  three  squares.  Mr. 
Strapiron  was  aware  that  these  things  had  gained  him 
notoriety,  and  was  willing  to  drop  the  subject  in  hand, 
only  remarking,  as  he  took  his  seat,  that  he  had  seen 
the  folly  of  some  things,  and  quoting  Paul  as  saying, 
"  When  I  was  a  child  I  o^d  like  a  child,  but  when  I 
became  a  man  I  put  away  childish  things."  Gossip 
said  Mr.  Strapiron  became  a  child  every  time  he  be- 
came a  widower. 

Mrs.  Wiggleton,  of  Turnip  Hill,  thought  the  new 
preacher  was  too  young.  '  "  He  don't  look  older  than 
our  Americus,  and  he  won't  be  nineteen  'till  next  hay- 
making. A  body  will  feel  strange  to  see  such  a  little 
man  in  the  pulpit  when  we  have  had  such  a  big  one ;  " 
and  here  Mrs.  Wiggleton  shed  a  tear  in  remembrance 


20  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

of  Rev.  Millard  Jacobs,  whom  she  helped  to  starve 
out,  and  for  whom  she  now  so  tenderly  sighed.  Now 
Mr.  Meagre  had  been  told  of  his  smallness  of  stature 
several  times  during  his  short  visit  to  Gainfield,  and 
once  said,  in  self-defence,  that  he  was  probably  about 
the  size  of  St.  Paul.  This  remark  was  used  by  Deacon 
Green  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Wiggleton ;  and  as  it  did  not 
occur  to  the  congregation  that  "  a  contemptible  bodily 
presence  "  was  the  only  point  of  resemblance  between 
Mr.  Meagre  and  the  apostle,  they  expressed  themselves 
as  perfectly  satisfied. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Teasil  and  old  Mrs..  Graves  had  so 
far  misapprehended  the  object  of  the  meeting  as  to 
get  into  a  discussion  of  the  Doctrine  of  Election  in  the 
side  aisle  to  the  right  of  the  pulpit,  and  by  this  time 
had  become  decidedly  noisy.  The  old  lady  heaped 
upon  her  opponent  some  very  severe  epithets  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  Mr.  Huguenot  as  an  advisory  member 
insisted  that  the  president  should  preserve  order. 
But  Mr.  Holland  simply  drew  himself  up  in  his  seat 
and  said  :  "  If  dose  two  o^^eples  aint  got  de  sense  to 
pehave,  I  won't  have  nuttin  to  do  mit  em."  The 
disputants  subsided,  however,  finally  of  their  own  ac- 
cord, and  the  way  was  opened  for  further  remarks. 

At  this  point  Mr.  Strapiron  made  his  second  speech. 
"  Brethren,"  he  said,  "  this  is  a  solemn  matter  before 
us.  Our  hearts  ought  to  be  right  and  our  motives 
pure.  All  hidden  wickedness  will  be  made  manifest 
soon  enough.  I  think  we  ought  to  pick  on  Mr.  Mea- 
gre as  our  pastor.  When  he  was  here  he  stayed  at  my 


THE  ELECTION  OP  A  PASTOR.     21 

house,  and  I  think  he  is  blessed  with  enough  and  to 
spare  of  this  world's  goods.  I  did  not  say  much  to 
him  about  this ;  but  I  did  not  offer  to  pay  his  expenses 
up  here,  and  he  had  not  the  face  to  ask  it.  That 
speaks  for  itself.  And  then  he  had  letters  to  intro- 
duce him  to  some  of  the  richest  men  in  this  town,  the 
real  aristocracy.  I  don't  know  but  what  he  is  some 
kin  to  them,  and  if  he  comes  they  might  pay  con- 
siderable of  the  salary." 

This  argument  had  a  thrilling  effect.  Mr.  John 
Crimp  arose,  and  said  he  was  now  "  convinced  "  that 
Mr.  Meagre  would  be  the  "  cheapest  man"  they  could 
get.  He  would  like  to  "  come  to  a  vote,"  but  he  had 
not  heard  the  new  schoolmaster  say  anything  yet. 

That  gentleman,  thus  called  out,  remarked  :  "  1  do 
not  wish  to  have  anything  to  do  with  it.  The  congre- 
gation might  be  divided,  and  it  would  hurt  my  busi- 
ness to  take  sides.  I  expect  to  vote  non-liquet." 

"  Ya,  ya,"  cried  old  Mr.'Krime,  "dat  is  zo.  Dat 
breacher  is  broud.  His  hair  vos  barted  ;  he  breach 
for  gelt ;  I  too  votes  not  tike  it." 

With  these  exceptions,  the  election  was  unanimous. 
Rev.  Mr.  Huguenot  made  a  speech  at  the  close,  which 
was  said,  by  a  looker-on  in  Venice,  to  have  been  rich 
beyond  description.  Some  of  the  congregation,  who 
understood  parts  of  it,  got  angry  at  him  and  refused 
to  pay  a  note  they  had  given  him  some  years  before. 
Many,  however,  did  not  understand  him,  and  took  his 
irony  for  compliment.  He  said  that  after  the  "  trial 
sermon"  he  had  no  doubt  the  congregation  would 


22  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"pick  on"  Mr.  Meagre  as  their  pastor,  even  as  they 
had  picked  on  several  before ;  agreed  with  Brother 
Strapiron  that  "  men's  motives  could  not  remain  hidden 
long ;  "  had  no  doubt  that  Mr.  Meagre  was  influenced 
by  sordid  considerations,  but  that  if  he  had  friends 
here,  would  be  the  "cheapest  man"  in  town;  encour- 
aged the  brethren  to  believe  that  their  new  minister 
would  not  wear  kid  gloves  long.  Mr.  Huguenot  had 
no  idea  that  Mr.  Meagre's  high  church  tendencies 
would  lead  to  any  important  changes.  These  walls 
he  said  have  been  permitted  to  sink  several  inches, 
and  he  would  undertake  to  say  that  not  a  brick  would 
be  added  to  the  unfinished  tower.  He  had  been  of 
Mrs.  Huggermugger's  opinion  in  regard  to  cleaning 
the  basement,  for  ten  years. 

After  reviewing  the  proceedings  in  this  way,  he 
tried  to  reason  with  the  people,  to  remove  their  igno- 
rance and  prejudices,  to  elevate  their  ideas,  and 
closed  with  an  appeal,  as  much  distinguished  for  its 
pathos  as  his  first  words  had  been  for  their  severity. 
But  this  he  had  tried  before,  through  long  years,  and 
now  he  prayed  that  Mr.  Meagre  might  be  more  suc- 
cessful than  he  had  been. 


THE    PARSON     "GITS    SETTLED."          23 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  YOUNG  PARSON  "GITS  SETTLED"  AND  IS 
INTRODUCED  TO  THE  PEOPLE. 

HAVING  received  and  accepted  a  call  to  the  pastor- 
ate of  the  Gainfield  Charge,  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  lost 
no  time  in  repairing  to  his  field  of  labor.  Not  only 
the  Gainfield  Gazette,  but  the  general  church  papers 
noticed  the  fact,  and  said,  of  course,  that  the  young 
brother  entered  upon  his  duties  with  "  rare  prospects 
of  usefulness  and  success." 

The  expected  arrival  of  the  new  preacher  had  given 
some  anxiety  to  the  elder  ladies  of  the  church.  They 
were  deeply  exercised  to  know  where  he  ought  to 
room,  and  board,  and  have  his  washing  done.  Several 
families  declined  taking  him  before  they  were  asked 
to  take  him ;  and  others  intimated,  with  a  knowing 
toss  of  the  head,  that  anything  they  might  do  in  this 
way  would  depend  on  circumstances.  Mr.  Meagre 
cut  the  knot  by  taking  these  things  entirely  into  his 
own  hands.  He  got  a  fine  second-story  room  on  a 
corner,  —  a  room  over  which  no  member  of  the  con- 
gregation ever  had  the  least  possible  control.  He 
also  engaged  "provender"  at  a  regular  boarding- 
house,  and  sent  his  "wash"  to  a  laundry.  Upon  the 
whole,  these  domestic  arrangements  —  if  there  is  such 


24  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

a  thing  as  domesticity  in  bachelordom  —  proved  to  be 
the  best  that  could  have  been  made.  No  one  in  the 
congregation  knew  how  late  he  studied  at  night,  or 
how  late  he  slept  in  the  morning ;  what  he  ate,  or 
how  frequently  he  changed  his  linen.  His  room,  al- 
though in  a  central  location,  and  accessible  to  his 
friends,  was  strictly  private.  At  the  boarding-house 
there  were  many  pleasant  people,  and  except  that  Mr. 
Meagre  was  betrayed  into  two  slight  skirmishes  with 
the  landlady,  he  had  nothing  to  complain  of  in  these 
respects.  And  lest  it  might  be  supposed  that  these 
difficulties  were  of  a  serious  nature,  it  may  be  well  to 
state  the  facts  connected  with  them,  and  thus  forever 
relieve  all  apprehension. 

The  first  offence  was  given  in  this  simple  way. 
Mr.  Meagre  never  drank  anything  except  water  at  his 
meals,  but  was  so  intemperate  in  the  use  of  that,  that 
it  was  thought  to  be  an  economy  of  time  and  labor  to 
keep  a  pitcher  near  his  place  at  the  table.  One  even- 
ing he  was  filling  his  glass,  and  old  Mrs.  Tuber,  the 
aforesaid  landlady,  who  was  a  sort  of  Mrs.  Parting- 
ton,  had  her  hand  on  the  tea-urn.  The  forces  thus 
disposed,  Mrs.  Tuber  broke  a  five  minutes'  silence 
by  asking  Mr.  Meagre  a  sort  of  conundrum  which  she 
had  read  in  the  paper,  and  thought  to  give  a  personal 
application  by  adapting  it  to  circumstances. 

"  Mr.  Meagre,  what  is  the  difference  between  you 
and  me?" 

"  I  don't  know,  madam,  except  that  while  I  dish 
out  pure  water  you  pour  out  dish-water." 


THE    PARSON    "GITS    SETTLED."          25 

This  raised  a  loud  laugh,  at  which  Mr.  Meagre  was 
really  surprised,  for  as  he  never  tasted  the  beverage 
Mrs.  Tuber  dispensed,  he  did  not  know  that  his  epithet 
had  ever  been  applied  to  it.  It  appeared,  however, 
that  dish-water  was  the  name  commonly  given  to  it, 
and  the  boarders  were  disposed  to  pass  a  vote  of 
thanks  to  the  young  preacher  for  giving  the  old  lady 
the  hint ;  but  she,  perhaps,  never  loved  him  any  the 
better  for  it.  Of  course,  Mr.  Meagre  made  the  neces- 
sary explanations,  and  having  disavowed  any  ungen- 
tleraanly  desire  to  wound  any  one's  feelings,  his  dis- 
claimer was  taken  as  ending  the  matter. 

On  the  other  occasion,  Mrs.  Tuber  attempted  to 
lecture  Mr.  Meagre  for  his  irregularity  in  coming  to 
his  meals.  Now  his  professional  engagements  some- 
times stood  in  the  way  of  compliance  with  the  rules 
of  the  house.  He  could  not  leave  a  funeral  train  on 
the  street  because  the  dinner-bell  was  ringing,  nor 
always  quit  the  couch  of  the  dying  when  the  finger  on 
the  dial  indicated  that  it  was  tea  time.  And  then, 
whether  the  congregation  knew  it  or  not,  Mr.  Meagre 
did  sleep  a  little  late  on  Monday  mornings ;  and  to 
be  candid,  it  was  one  of  these  lie-a-bed  sins  that  un- 
loosed the  oldJady's  tongue. 

But  Mr.  Meagre  told  her  that  as  she  never  took  the 
trouble  to  keep  the  rolls  hot,  and  even  sent  him  break- 
fastless  away  when  he  came  too  late,  he  suffered  all  the 
inconvenience  himself,  and  did  not  think  he  ought  to 
have  the  additional  punishment  of  a  scolding.  He 
was  willing  to  bear  one  penalty,  but  not  both,  and 
3 


26  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

Mrs.  Tuber  might  choose  which  to  inflict.  As  it  was 
easier  for  a  corpulent  person  to  keep  silent  than  to 
warm  a  beefsteak,  Mrs.  Tuber  ceased  to  chide,  and 
there  was  no  further  difficulty. 

In  addition  to  the  Gainfield  congregation,  Mr. 
Meagre  had  two  other  "preaching  places,"  as  they 
were  called.  The  one  was  a  few  miles  out  of  town, 
and  the  other  at  Pumbeditha,  twenty  miles  away.  As 
he  could  go  to  the  first  of  these  and  return  the  same 
day,  it  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  make  any  arrange- 
ments in  regard  to  boarding  and  lodging.  He  never 
stayed  over  night,  and  seldom  accepted  an  invitation  to 
tea.  In  order  to  get  to  Pumbeditha,  however,  he 
must  needs  go  to  a  certain  station  on  the  railroad, 
where  he  was  generally  met  by  Mr.  Middleton,  and 
taken  to  the  village  in  a  sort  of  "  carry-all,"  which 
Mr.  Meagre  named  u  The  Diligence,"  and  in  which 
he  had  many  pleasant  rides. 

Mr.  Middleton  was  by  far  the  best  man  Mr.  Meagre 
had  among  his  members,  and  his  wife  was  a  most 
excellent  woman.  Their  house  had  been  a  sort  of 
hotel  for  all  the  ministers  of  the  denomination  for 
years, — only  no  minister  ever  had  a  bill  to  pay.  The 
pastors  who  had  labored  there  all  regarded  it  as  a 
green  spot  in  the  desert,  and  Mr.  Meagre  took  to  it 
instinctively,  as  a  duck  takes  to  water.  He  had  much 
to  do  in  the  congregation  at  Pumbeditha,  and  usually 
stayed  several  days  at  a  time.  Mr.  Middleton's  was 
then  his  home  —  the  point  of  departure  whence  he 
visited  the  people ;  and  by  that  hearthstone  he  often 


THE    PARSON    "GITS    SETTLED."          27 

smoked  a  cigar,  talked,  and  even  laughed,  without  the 
fear  of  bringing  scandal  upon  his  profession. 

Nearly  every  one  of  the  people  of  the  congregation 
knew  Mr.  Meagre  by  sight  at  least,  when  he  returned 
to  Gainfield ;  and  strangely  enough,  they  expected  him 
to  know  every  one  of  them.  Now  if  any  single  one 
of  them  had  preached  a  trial  sermon  to  him,  he  doubt- 
less would  have  remembered  that  person,  but  he  did 
not  know  the  two  hundred  to  whom  he  had  simply 
preached  a  trial  sermon. 

In  order  that  he  might  correct  this  evil,  and  know 
every  man,  woman,  and  child,  Deacon  Green  was  ap- 
pointed to  "  tote  him  round  and  introduce  him."  This 
work  was  to  have  been  commenced  on  Monday,  but  as 
Mr.  Meagre  had  once  heard  that  Monday  was  universal 
wash-day,  the  pleasure  of  visiting  the  people  was  post- 
poned until  Tuesday.  The  women,  however,  concluded 
that  the  young  preacher  would  not  think  so  far ;  so 
they  put  their  washing  off  until  Tuesday,  and  when 
Mr.  Meagre  came  on  that  day,  he  found  many  of 
them  at  their  tubs.  Mrs.  McAndlish  apologized  and 
"took  on  about  it,"  as  if  washing  clothes  was  a  mor- 
tal sin,  of  which  any  woman  ought  to  be  ashamed. 
In  vain  did  Mr.  Meagre  say  it  was  no  crime.  Mrs. 
McAndlish  had  Spartan  ideas.  It  was  no  sin  to  wash 
perhaps,  but  a  dreadful  one  to  be  caught  washing. 
The  young  parson  sympathized  with  the  embarrass- 
ment the  woman  labored  under ;  and  while  he  pro- 
claimed that  it  was  the  part  of  a  Christian  to  perform 
aright  the  humblest  duty,  and  honored  those  who  did* 


28  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

so,  he  jotted  down  as  a  thing  to  be  remembered  for- 
ever in  his  pastoral  labors  :  Tuesday  is  a  wash-day  ; 
don't  call  on  anybody. 

As  Mr.  Meagre  forgot  that  he  had  put  the  week 
out  of  joint,  he  just  made  a  mistake  in  the  day,  and 
having  got  that  "right  wrong,"  he  visited  Mrs.  Mo 
Andlish  the  next  time  on  Monday,  and  found  her 
washing  again.  She  managed  to  correct  his  calender, 
and  almost  extorted  a  promise  that  he  would  "  always 
make  some  other  time  suit  his  convenience." 

The  people  generally  seemed  glad  to  see  Mr.  Mea- 
gre, though  some  of  them  were  needlessly  flustered 
when  he  came  upon  them  unawares.  He  did  not  take 
them  all  by  surprise,  however.  On  Turnip  Hill,  where 
nearly  a  whole  square  belonged  to  his  bailiwick,  a  girl 
who  was  scrubbing  the  pavement  suddenly  espied  him 
coming,  and  dropping  broom,  bucket,  and  house-cloth, 
ran  to  give  the  alarm.  Perhaps  there  were  no  signal 
fires  kindled  suph  as  the  Greeks  lighted  to  announce 
the  fall  of  Troy,  but  there  was  a  calling  over  garden 
fences,  and  a  running  through  back  yards,  that  indi- 
cated a  spread  of  news ;  and  after  leaving  the  first 
house,  Mr.  Meagre  was  not  obliged  to  tap  more  than 
once  at  a  front  door.  Time  had  been  given  to  every 
woman  to  put  on  a  clean  apron,  open  her  parlor  shut- 
ters, and  instruct  her  children  how  to  behave.  The 
commands  given  to  the  little  ones  were,  that  they 
should  neither  smile  nor  move  a  muscle,  but  keep  per- 
fectly still,  "just  like  in  meeting,"  until  the  preacher 
went  away. 


THE    PARSON     "(JITS    SETTLED."          29 

The  general  ideas  which  the  children  took  from 
these  commands  were,  that  the  new  preacher  was  to 
be  the  tyrant  of  their  infancy  ;  that  religion  was  harsh 
and  forbidding  ;  and  that  they  might  do  behind  a  min- 
ister's back  what  they  dare  not  do  before  his  face  — 
another  piece  of  Spartan  morality  that  had  been  in- 
culcated, perhaps  for  years.  The  result  was  that  the 
youth  of  the  congregation,  instead  of  looking  upon 
their  pastor  as  a  kind,  approachable  man,  anxious  to 
do  them  good,  had  a  sort  of  instinctive  aversion  to 
him.  The  effect  of  some  such  teaching  was  patent 
enough  to  Mr.  Meagre.  For  although  he  was  not  a 
very  "  solemncholy "  man,  yet  for  a  long  time  the 
young  people  studiously  avoided  him,  and  if  they 
came  upon  him  unexpectedly, 

"All  shrank,  like  boys  who  unaware 
Ranging  the  woods  to  start  a  hare 
Come  to  the  mouth  of  the  dark  lair 
Where  growling  low,  a  fierce  old  bear 
Lies  amidst  bones  and  blood!" 

Some  very  queer  things  occurred  in  these  first  visits ; 
things  of  such  a  nature  that  they  cannot  be  recorded 
here,  and  would  scarcely  be  credited  if  they  were 
recorded.  They  must,  therefore,  be  omitted. 

It  may  be  harmless   to  state,  however,  that  Mr. 
Meagre's  youthful  appearance  was  a  subject  of  uni- 
versal remark.     "How  old  are  you?"  boldly  asked 
one  scared-up,  iron-visaged  woman,  the  only  time  she. 
opened  her  mouth  while  Mr.  Meagre  was  in  her  house. 

"  Is  this  now  the  preacher?"   said  oae  iu  another 
3* 


30  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

place  ;  "  I  didn't  git  to  meetin',  but  they  all  told  me 
I  never  seen  sich  a  short  preacher.  Are  you  healt'y  ? 
Some  of  the  preachers  are  so  scandalous  sickly,  they 
ain't  good  for  nothin'.  Spec  you've  got  good  larnin' 
tho'.  Let's  see  !  Meagre  is  your  name.  There  was 
one  Meagre  got  killed  out  at  Poltz's,  with  a  thrashin' 
machine.  'Rec'on  it  wasn't  you,  was  it  ?  " 

"  Same  man,"  Mr.  Meagre  was  strongly  disposed 
to  say,  and  stick  to  it  with  the  pertinacity  of  a  Jew 
pedlar,  hut  his  better  nature  triumphed,  and  he  can- 
didly acknowledged  that  he  was  altogether  a  different 
person. 

At  one  house,  a  stout,  middle-aged  woman  who  wore 
spectacles,  bustled  in.  She  was  a  Methodist,  but  had 
a  curiosity  to  see  the  new  preacher,  and  came  osten- 
sibly on  important  business. 

"Miss  Storm,"  she  said,  ';  I  just  come  to  ax  you 
a  perticler  question.  Is  it  bad  luck  to  set  a  hen  on 
odd  eggs  ?  Bin  trubbled  'bout  it  more  'an  a  week, 
and  says  I  to  Cythy,  says  I,  '  I'll  just  go  and  ax  Miss 
Storm.' " 

Mrs.  Storm  gave  her  sage  opinion,  and  the  lady 
visitor  having  taken  a  good  look  at  the  object  of  her 
curiosity,  departed,  saying  she  was  in  a  dreadful  hurry, 
"  Cythy  run  out  o'  bread,  she's  bakin'  and  her  baby's 
cryin'.  Think  that  child  ought  to  have  some  catnip." 

Mr.  Meagre's  first  visit  to  old  Mr.  Krime  impressed 
the  young  pastor  very  sadly ;  although  if  the  old  man 
had  not  exhibited  such  utter  depravity  and  hardness 
of  heart,  the  interview  would  have  been  laughable 


THE    PARSON     "GITS    SETTLED."          31 

enough.  Some  strange  things  were  expected.  Mr. 
Krime  was  over  eighty  years  of  age.  He  had  per- 
haps from  his  very  youth  opposed  everything  in  the 
way  of  religion,  and  the  disposition  to  do  so  had  be- 
come a  constitutional  habit.  "He  had  the  fixed  posture 
of  mind  and  heart  of  one  who  feared  that  some  of 
God's  people  would  exercise  an  influence  over  him  and 
take  advantage  of  him.  His  specialty  was  hatred  to 
ministers  of  the  Gospel.  Some  years  before,  a  good 
Methodist  brother  had  tried  to  approach  him  kindly, 
and  only  received  words  of  cursing  for  his  pains. 
Since  that  time  missionary  operations  h;id  been  sus- 
pended. Of  course  Mr.  Krime  never  attended  public 
worship.  He  had  not  even  seen  Mr.  Meagre  when 
that  functionary  came  to  preach  his  trial  sermon  ;  but 
some  one  had  told  the  old  man  that  the  minister's  hair 
was  "barted,"  and  he  knew  he  was  "  broud."  Al- 
though an  outsider,  Mr.  Krime  had  gone  to  the  con- 
gregational meeting  at  Gainfield,  as  he  himself  said, 
to  "  shust  let  de  beobles  know  vat  I  tinks.  I  not  likes 
de  breacher  to  kom  any  more  to  dis  place." 

But  Mrs.  Krime,  a  healthy-looking  woman  of  about 
forty  years,  desired  Mr.  Meagre  to  come  and  see  the 
old  man.  "  He  is  a  little  plain-spoken  like,"  she 
said,  "but  you  musn't  mind  him.  I'll  make  an  ex- 
cuse to  keep  the  dogs  tied  that  day." 

Of  course  Mr.  Meagre  thought  it  his  duty  to  go. 
The  old  man  was  more  stern  than  Cedric  the  Saxon : 
he  did  not  advance  even  three  steps  to  meet  his  guest, 
but  sat  still.  This  was  excusable  enough,  as  he  was 


diJ  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

vory  old ;  but  the  monosyllabic  sound  that  he  uttered 
when  made  aware  that  a  preacher  had  ventured  into 
his  presence  —  a  sound  something  between  a  grunt 
and  a  groan,  was  highly  expressive  of  contempt  and 
defiance. 

Mr.  Meagre  talked  with  Mrs.  Krime  until  the  old 
man  turned  upon  him  with  a  leer  and  asked, 

"Any  sin  to  go  fur  jarries  on  Zunday  ?" 

Mrs.  Krime  explained  that  he  meant  cherries. 

"  Ya,  jarries  —  any  sin  to  go  fur  jarries  on  Zun- 
day?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  emphatically. 

"Zo?  De  breachers  do  worse  dings  as  go  fur 
jarries.  Dey  breach  von  blace  und  den  quick  shump 
on,,  und  ride  so  hard  like  dey  kin,  to  breach  anoder 
blace,  shist  to  make  de  monish ;  und  de  breachers  all 

go  in "  here  Mr.  Krime  pointed  downwards,  and 

used  a  monosyllable  which  more  than  implied  a  doubt 
as  to  ministers  getting  to  heaven. 

Mr.  Meagre  preserved  his  gravity.  There  was 
nothing  to  try  his  temper,  however  much  there  might 
have  been  to  excite  his  pity  or  provoke  his  mirth. 
He  gave  Mr.  Krime  a  lecture  that  was  plain  enough 
to  be  understood,  and  expected  to  be  rewarded  by  a 
caning,  but  the  old  man  seemed  rather  pleased  with 
the  candor  the  young  preacher  displayed,  and  grew 
more  amiable  and  sociable.  Among  other  things,  he 
gave  an  account  of  the  way  he  had  punished  some 
boys  whom  he  caught  stealing  his  peaches,  which  w;is 
funny  enough  ;  and  his  triumph  in  the  event  referred 


HARD    WORK.  33 

to,  seemed  to  linger  in  his  mind  as  one  of  the  most 
pleasing  recollections  of  his  long  life. 

When  the  young  parson  arose  to  leave  he  was  ad- 
vised by  the  old  man  to  "  Shust  ride  tro  de  woods  a 
little  und  scape  de  doll-gate,"  which  operation  Mr. 
Meagre  objected  to  on  high  moral  grounds,  at  which 
Mr.  Krime  was  surprised.  What  was  the  object  in 
giving  this  advice  was  never  fully  known.  Mr.  Mea- 
gre thought  it  was  intended  to  test  his  principles,  or 
perhaps  save  his  purse  ;  but  he  afterwards  learned  that 
the  old  gentleman  had  once  been  fined  five  dollars  for 
a  little  ride  that  he  himself  had  taken  around  the  toll- 
gate,  and  it  was  half  feared  that  there  was  a  covert 
attempt  to  get  somebody  else  into  the  same  scrape. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

HARD    WORK. 

REV.  Petit  Meagre  entered  upon  his  labors  with  all 
the  ardor  of  his  first  love.  Before  he  was  old  enough 
to  be  ordained  he  had  a  sort  of  vicarage  in  a  city 
congregation,  but  here  was  a  charge  that  the  church 
had  committed  to  his  own  care.  A  sense  of  his  re- 
sponsibility almost  overwhelmed  him.  and  he  resolved 
by  grace  to  do  all  in  his  power  to  take  care  of  the 
interests  intrusted  to  him.  There  was  around  him  in 


34  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

other  congregations  a  great  deal -of  refined  society, 
to  which  respectability  was  a  passport ;  but  he  resolved 
to  deny  himself  the  pleasure  thus  offered  him,  and 
identify  himself  as  far  as  possible  with  his  own  peo- 
ple. He  knew  that  they  had  peculiarities ;  that  they 
were  generally  ignorant  and  illiberal ;  but  this  only 
constituted  a  reason  why  he  should  put  forth  greater 
effort,  and  never  did  young  man  throw  his  energies 
more  fully  into  the  work  before  him. 

His  anxiety  to  know  every  one  to  whom  he  owed  a 
duty,  and  the  expectation  that  he  should  know  every 
one,  now  that  Deacon  Green  had  "  toted  him  round," 
sometimes  embarrassed  the  young  parson  sadly.  The 
first  week  he  was  in  Gainfield  he  passed  some  of  his 
most  prominent  members  without  recognizing  them, 
and  this  was  thought  very  strange.  Afterwards  he 
would  bow  and  bob  indiscriminately  to  every  person 
he  met,  sometimes  to  strangers  who  were  just  passing 
through  the  town,  and  once  to  a  lady  whom  he  had 
never  seen,  and  who  thought  him  to  be  either  near- 
sighted, or  else  a  booby.  In  every  congregation, 
there  are  some  persons  whom  a  new  preacher  is  apt 
to  confound  with  others ;  and  this  betrayed  Mr.  Mea- 
gre into  anxiously  asking  a  young  lady  of  whose 
identity  he  was  certain,  how  her  mother  was  ;  to  which 
said  young  lady  replied,  that  her  mother  had  been 
dead  for  ten  years.  On  another  occasion  he  politely 
inquired  of  an  old  maid,  when  she  looked  for  her 
husband ;  and  confused  by  her  tart  reply,  explained, 
that  he  mistook  her  for  Mrs.  Porwiggle,  whose  hus- 


H  A  R  D    W  0  R  K  .  35 

band  had  left  the  town  the  week  before  with  one  of 
his  grandsons,  to  see  after  a  pension  to  which  he  was 
entitled,  as  a  soldier  of  the  war  of  1812.  From  that 
unhappy  hour  Miss  Languish  treated  Mr.  Meagre 
with  the  most  ferocious  disdain,  especially  insisting 
that  he  "  had  horrid  goggle  eyes,  just  like  a  toad, 
you  know ;  that  he  squinted  fearfully,  and  must  be 
going  stone  blind."  Of  course  he  had  to  resort  to 
every  device  consistent  with  sound  morality  to  find 
out  who  people  were,  without  directly  asking  them 
their  names.  Ignorance  on  that  point  would  have  so 
offended  their  vanity,  that  they  would  not  have  re- 
covered from  it  for  years.  However,  he  soon  learned 
to  know  the  material  he  had  to  work  upon. 

Like  many  ardent,  but  inexperienced  young  clergy- 
men, Mr.  Meagre  commenced  by  doing  too  much.  His 
one  hundred  members  were  scattered  in  almost  as 
many  families ;  yet  he  visited  and  prayed  with  them 
all  on  an  average  of  once  a  month.  In  this,  Rev. 
Petit  exactly  overdid  the  matter;  for  when  circum- 
stances arose  which  prevented  him  from  doing  this,  it 
was  set  down  as  a  falling  off,  not  only  in  his  interest, 
but  in  his  piety.  At  home,  he  had  been  taught  al- 
ways to  discriminate  in  favor  of  the  poor  and  the  sick. 
This  he  always  did  ;  but  sometimes  the  sick  required 
all  of  his  time,  and  then  those  who  were  well  made  no 
abatement  for  the  fact  that  they  did  not  need  his  ser- 
vices, and  that  he  was  not  ubiquitous.  Once  he  had 
promised  to  call  at  a  certain  place  at  an  appointed 
hour ;  some  neighbor's  chickens  had  scratched  up  an 


36  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

old  lady's  pens,  and  her  son  ha<l  denounced  the 
chickens  in  the  most  savage  manner,  and  threatened 
to  shoot  them,  and  thus  created  bad  blood.  As  the 
parties  all  belonged  to  the  church,  each  one  threatened 
to  tell  the  preacher,  and  each  was  anxious  to  give 
him  the  true  version  of  the  affair  before  the  others 
had  an  opportunity  to  poison  his  mind.  Like  a  faith- 
ful pastor,  Mr.  Meagre  set  out  to  pour  oil  on  the 
troubled  waters.  On  the  way,  however,  he  met  a 
messenger  who  announced  that  Joe  Smith  was  dying 
on  Turnip*Hill,  and  wished  to  see  him  immediately. 
Of  course  the  preacher  turned  about  and  went  to  see 
the  dying  man.  Here  he  was  detained  till  a  late  hour 
in  the  night,  when  the  poor  man  died.  But  this  did 
not  excuse  Mr.  Meagre  for  not  attending  upon  the 
parishioners  who  had  the  quarrel  about  the  chickens. 
Both  parties  became  reconciled  in  their  condemnation 
of  him,  and  threatened  to  leave  the  church.  They 
did  not  see  the  use  of  having  a  pastor  who  could  not 
come  to  see  them  and  comfort  them  in  their  trouble. 

To  Mr.  Meagre  this  all  seemed  providential,  as  the 
parties  would,  perhaps,  not  have  become  reconciled 
if  he  had  been  able  to  carry  out  his  first  intention  of 
visiting  them.  The  comfort  they  expected  was  to  be 
given  only  by  his  taking  sides  in  their  quarrel,  some- 
thing which  he  would  not  have  done  at  any  rate.  As 
for  leaving  the  church,  why  —  they  did  not  leave,  al- 
though, if  he  could  have  felt  sure  that  the  church  did 
them  as  little  good  as  they  did  the  church,  he  would 
have  regarded  their  not  leaving  as  an  offset  in  the 


II  A  R  D     W  0  R  K  .  37 

estimate  of  the  good  resulting  from  his  failure  to  see 
them. 

In  preparing  for  the  pulpit,  the  Rev.  Petit  labored 
about  as  much  as  young  preachers  generally  do.  He 
often  got  "darkly,  deeply,  beautifully  blue"  as  the 
week  waned  ;  for  the  idea  of  going  into  the  pulpit,  not 
because  he  had  anything  to  say,  but  because  it  was 
expected  that  he  would  say  something  at  11  o'clock 
on  Sunday,  was  sad  enough.  Often  in  his  Saturday 
night  agonies  did  he  resolve  to  commence  his  prepara- 
tion early  the  next  week,  and  save  all  of  this  pertur-. 
bation  of  mind.  Rev.  Walter  Corneel,  in  the  town  — 
as  good  a  man  as  could  be  found  anywhere,  and  an 
able,  fearless  preacher— was  never  in  the  drag.  He 
commenced  on  Monday  morning,  had  a  certain  quan- 
tity of  his  discourse  written  at  a  certain  hour  every 
week,  and  always  had  Saturday  free  to  himself.  Why 
might  not  Mr.  Meagre  do  the  same  thing  ?  He  tried 
it  once ;  shut  himself  up  and  beat  around  for  an  idea 
for  several  days,  but  found  himself  at  noon  on  Friday, 
sans  sermon,  sans  text,  reading  an  advertisement  in 
an  old  paper  upside  down.  Finally,  in  a  fit  of  despe- 
ration he  took  a  subject  arbitrarily,  treated  it  me- 
chanically, and  brought  to  the  pulpit  as'complete  an 
opiate  as  was  ever  administered  to  a  congregation. 

It  was  evidently  a  failure.  There  was  a  difference 
in  the  men, —  a  difference  not  only  in  the  calibre,  but 
in  the  native  structure  of  their  minds.  Mr.  Corneel 
was  constitutionally  systematic  ;  Mr.  Meagre  could  do 
nothing  except  under  the  spur  of  special  necessity. 
4 


38  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

So  the  young  man  tried  to  be  true  to  his  own  nature, 
rather  than  to  imitate  those  whom  he  envied  or  ad- 
mired. He  studied  hard  to  improve  his  mind  and  in- 
crease his  knowledge,  but  prepared  his  sermons  when 
he  could  get  into  sympathy  with  his  subject.  Of 
course  he  continued  to  have  his  mighty  wrestlings  on 
Saturday  nights,  and  his  nervous  reactions  on  Mon- 
day morning,  but  to  him  these  were  the  least  of  two 
sets  of  evils. 

Once,  and  perhaps  only  once,  did  Mr.  Meagre  get 
a  sermon  done  by  the  middle  of  the  week,  but  then 
the  text  had  flashed  into  his  mind  as  if  he  were 
suddenly  illumined,  and  he  laid  the  whole  subject 
out  on  paper  in  two  hours  and  a  half..  But  even  in 
that  case  he  had  the  wind  taken  out  of  his  sails  be- 
fore he  had  got  fairly  out  of  harbor.  Dr.  Kay,  Mr. 
Surcingle's  pastor,  was  not  only  worthy  of  the  repu- 
tation he  had  as  a  scholar  and  a  preacher,  but  was  a 
very  genial  man,  and  Mr.  Meagre's  best  friend.  He 
not  only  gave  him  access  to  his  fine  library,  but  taught 
him  how  to  use  it;  visited  him,  walked  with  him, 
talked  with  him,  relieved  his  ennui,  and  instructed  his 
ignorance,  until  the  young  man  was  more  indebted  to 
him  than  t*o  any  one  else,  except  perhaps  to  his 
revered  teacher  at  the  seminary.  The  card  that 
Dr.  Kay  usually  left  when  he  found  that  his  son 
Timothy  was  out,  was  not  a  piece  of  enamelled  paste- 
board with  "Rev.  Theophilus  Kay,  D.  D."  engraved 
upon  it,  but  a  chair  placed  upon  the  study  table  and 
surmounted  by  a  pair  of  dumb-bells.  Of  course  the 


HARD    WORK.  39 

terms  of  intimacy  justified  candid  criticism ;  and  when 
in  this,  case  the  youngster  boasted  that  his  sermon 
was  done,  Dr.  Kay  asked  the  text,  and  without  hear- 
ing anything  more  than  the  text,  ventured  the  positive 
opinion  that  Mr.  Meagre  had  perverted  it.  The  ser- 
mon was  read,  and  the  subject  investigated  on  the 
spot.  Dr.  Kay's  prediction  was  fully  verified,  so  that 
even  the  luckless  young  interpreter,  who  supposed  that 
he  had  reached  the  meaning  of  inspiration  by  a  spe- 
cial inspiration  of  his  own,  saw  that  he  was  utterly 
mistaken.  As  Mr.  Meagre  was  conscientious,  he  had 
to  take  his  beautiful  Mosaic  apart,  and  frame  it  all 
anew,  which  brought  his  work  as  near  to  Sunday  as 
usual. 

This  event  taught  the  Rev.  Petit  never  to  write  a 
sermon  or  a  text  before  he  at  least  tried  to  examine 
the  subject.  The  subsequent  history  of  that  same 
sermon  made  him  aware  of  the  attention  with  which 
his  hearers  listened  to  what  he  said  in  the  pulpit. 
He  preached  it  that  Sunday,  and  however  correct  it 
was  theologically,  no  one  seemed  to  be  interested  in 
it.  About  four  weeks  afterwards,  for  good  and  suffi- 
cient reasons,  Mr.  Meagre  deliberately  resolved  to 
repeat  it.  He  did  so,  and  with  "thrilling  effect." 
The  people  said  their  minister  "  never  preached  such 
a  good  sermon  in  all  his  born  days."  One  man  asked 
him  why  he  did  not  always  prepare  such  discourses, 
and  Mr.  Meagre  took  him  aback  by  assuring  him 
that  that  identical  sermon,  verbatim  et  literatim,  had 
been  almost  thundered  into  the  ears  of  the  congrega- 


40  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

tion  just  one  month  .before.  The  "dear  hearers" 
were  wonderfully  "taken  down,"  and  some  of  them 
came  to  church  afterwards  mainly  to  see  if  the  par- 
son would  not  preach  some  of  his  old  sermons  over 
again.  They  concluded  that  he  had  "  upset  the 
barrel,"  and  they  were  in  no  humor  to  be  deceived 
again.  Their  suspicions  once  aroused,  they  were 
always  accusing  him  of  repetition,  —  a  charge  entirely 
groundless,  as  Mr.  Meagre  did  not  think  he  had  any 
sermons  worth  repeating. 

He  continued  as  he  had  commenced,  laboring  hard 
not  only  as  a  pastor,  but  as  a  preacher;  always  anx- 
ious to  give  his  hearers  the  best  that  he  could  furnish, 
but  with  mournful  misgivings  that  his  best  was  bad 
enough, — a  view  to  which  he  may  have  been  impelled 
by  his  modesty,  but  more  probably  by  the  stern  evi- 
dence in  the  case. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    TWO    HOLIDAYS. 

ONLY  twice  in  four  long  years  did  the  youthful 
pastor  gain  any  respite  from  these  arduous  labors, 
and  in  both  cases  the  circumstances  were  very  pecu- 
liar. Once  there  were  several  cases  of  small-pox  in 
the  town.  The  physicians  had  detailed  Mr.  Meagre 
from  the  corps  of  pastors  to  attend  them,  but  to  avoid 


THE    TWO    HOLIDAYS.  41 

panic  this  was  kept  quiet ;  and  to  prevent  the  disease 
from  spreading,  it  was.  suggested  that  the  young  func- 
tionary of  the  church  should  not  circulate  too  freely. 
This  cessation  of  pastoral  work  gave  rise  to  complaint, 
of  which  Dr.  Shady,  a  sort  of  Abernethy,  heard, 
lie  humorously  exaggerated  the  danger,  now  that  the 
danger  was  past ;  and  the  people  became  suddenly 
very  considerate  and  liberal.  Mr.  Meagre  was  very 
excusable — no  use  for  a  man  to  kill  himself.  Indeed, 
the  young  preacher  seldom  got  into  a  house  for  the 
next  three  months,  when  he  did  call ;  and  many  of 
the  people  crossed  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  pave- 
ment?  or  made  a  call  at  some  house  hard  by,  when 
they  saw  him  coining  up  the  street,  for  fear  he  might 
think  it  his  duty  to  stop  them,  shake  hands,  and  apol- 
ogize. They  even  instructed  their  children  not  to  go 
near  Mr.  Meagre,  as  "he  had  somethin'  catchin'." 
Among  a  few  of  them  there  was  some  talk  of  getting 
another  man,  who  could  visit  them  without  bringing 
contagion  with  him.  The  truth  was,  the  complainants 
did  not  care  'much  about  Mr.  Meagre's  visits  at  any 
time  ;  they  would  really  have  liked  it  better  if  he  had 
never  visited  them,  apart  from  the  fact  that  they 
wanted  a  great  deal  of  personal  attention  paid  to. 
them.  For  true  pastoral  visits  they  cared  nothing. 

Amid  the  complainers,  however,  there  was  one  lady 
renowned  in  days  of  old  for  her  constant  murmuring 
that  the  minister  did  not  call  often  enough,  but  who, 
in  Mr.  Meagre's  trial,  to  the  astonishment  of  himself 
and  of  everybody  else,  was  perfectly  satisfied  —  had 
4* 


42  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

not  a  word  of  complaint.  She  told  everybody  in  the 
church  whose  ear  she  could  get,  that  Mr.  Meagre  was 
always  visiting  their  house ;  that  the  "  dear  little  man," 
as  she  styled  him,  took  at  least  half  his  meals  with 
her,  and  came  to  her  for  advice  about  everything. 
"Poor  little  darling,"  she  would  say,  "he  just  comes 
to  me  as  if  I  was  his  mother."  The  result  was  that 
all  the  rest  envied  Mrs.  Popple,  and  denounced  Mr. 
Meagre,  who,  in  fact,  visited  Mrs.  Popple  no  oftener 
than  he  did  others,  and  who  quietly  ignored  the  very 
foolish  advice  which  she  sometimes  officiously  forced 
upon  him. 

The  other  occasion  on  which  the  people  granted 
their  pastor  a  furlough,  reminded  him  of  the  carpenter 
who  cured  his  own  bacon,  and  told  his  apprentice  boys 
they  might  take  holiday  one  Saturday  evening  and 
hang  up  the  meat. 

The  young  incumbent  once  preached  a  sermon  on 
the  text  "  It  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive," 
wherein  he  expatiated  earnestly  upon  the  advantages 
of  liberality.  This  discourse  produced  a  profound 
sensation.  The  prominent  male  members  of  the  con- 
gregation looked  sagely  and  approvingly  at  one  an- 
other during  the  delivery,  and  but  for  the  respect 
in  which  the  place  was  held,  the  young  man  would 
doubtless  have  "  brought  down  the  house."  After  the 
service  some  of  the  officers  shook  hands  with  one 
another  and  spoke  as  pleasantly  as  if  they  had  not 
met  for  years,  although  they  had  enjoyed  a  long  talk 
just  before  "  church  tuck  in."  When  Rev.  Petit  came 


THE    TWO    HOLIDAYS.  43 

down  from  the  pulpit,  they  congratulated  him  upon  his 
"  eloquent  and  convincing  remarks,"  and  even  showed 
a  disposition  to  pat  him  on  the  shoulder,  but  perhaps 
doubted  whether  he  would  like  the  familiarity. 

"You're  our  man,"  said  one,  with  a  complimentary 
nod. 

"  That  sarmont  told,"  said  another. 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Mr.  Smith,  who  was  counting 
the  cents  taken  up  at  the  collection,  "  if  we  'd  a 
had  some  one  to  talk  that  way  for  us,  we'd  a  bin  out 
of  debt  long  ago.  Them  other  fellers  we  had  here 
before  you  come  wasn't  worth  nothin'." 

This  reflection  upon  his  worthy  predecessors  was 
very  distasteful  to  Mr.  Meagre.  But  independent  of 
that,  he  was  glad  to  think  that  a  sermon  he  had  almost 
feared  to  preach,  had  done  some  good.  Nay,  he 
might  have  been  tempted  to  take  some  credit  to  him- 
self, had  not  a  general  warning  once  given  to  him 
come  like  a  good  angel  to  his  rescue. 

One  of  the  most  gifted  orators  in  the  Methodist 
Episcopal  Church — a  man  to  whom  the  young  parson 
was  indebted  for  many  pleasant  and  profitable  hours, 
said  to  him  once,  early  in  his  ministry :  "  Meagre, 
you  have  started  out  to  preach  the  everlasting  Gospel, 
have  you  not?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  grave  reply. 

"  Well,  I  have  a  word  or  two  for  you.  You  havo 
doubtless  heard  of  the  eminent  divine  who,  upon  being 
told  that  he  had  preached  a  good  sermon,  replied  that 
the  Devil  had  told  him  that  before  he  left  the  pulpit. 


44  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

What  I  was  going  to  say  in  connection  with  that  is, 
that  there  is  no  place  Satan  is  more  apt  to  stand  than 
by  a  man's  side  in  the  sacred  desk,  and  at  the  foot  of 
the  pulpit  stairs.  If  you  are  ever  disposed  to  think 
that  you  have  made  an  especially  "fine  effort,"  close 
your  heart  and  stop  your  ears.  The  first  hour  after 
your  discourse  is  done,  is  especially  fraught  with  dan- 
ger. Ah  !  how  sweetly  the  syren  sings,  and  how  open 
men  are  to  damning  flattery.  Go  to  your  closet,  and 
with  a  standard  of  purity  not  less  high  than  Heaven's 
own  before  you,  exercise  a  rigid  censorship  over  your 
work;  and  if  you  find  any  reason  for  self-glorification, 
you  are  to  be  pitied.  One  of  the  most  God-fearing, 
eloquent,  and  successful  bishops  in  our  Church  would 
not  allow  any  one  to  speak  to  him  about  his  sermons 
on  the  same  day  they  were  preached." 

The  inexperienced  young  man  remembered  this,  and 
concluded  to  suspend  his  judgment.  That  evening, 
however,  he  was  requested  to  call  a  meeting  of  the 
vestry  "  to  take  into  consideration  the  debt  on  the 
church;"  and  also  to  announce  that  a  plan  had  been 
devised  that  might  be  expected  to  liquidate  the  whole 
four  hundred  dollars. 

This  request  was  complied  with;  and  at  the  appointed 
time  the  vestry  met.  "  Pastor  ex-officio  president  in 
the  chair;  every  member  present  punctually,"  the 
minutes  said,  and  it  may  be  added  that  every  face  was 
wreathed  with  smiles. 

After  the  session  was  opened,  Mr.  Strapiron,  eager 


THE    TWO     HOLIDAYS.  45 

for  the  pleasant  duty,  announced  the  plan  that  had 
been  formed  for  the  relief  of  the  church. 

"Mr.  President,"  he  said,  "it  is  wonderful  what  a 
remarkable  co-hincidence  of  great  minds  there  is  some- 
times. Zealous  in  the  good  work  in  the  Master's 
vineyard,  we  had  been  con-cocting  for  a  week  how  to 
pay  off  the  claims  due  to  one  or  two  of  us  from  the 
church,  and  had  jist  lit  on  an  idee  when  your  most 
wonderful  discourse  jist  clinched  the  nail  on  the 
head,  and  settled  us  in  the  opinion  that  the  children 
of  Zion  had  an  immediate  work  to  perform.  Now," 
he  added,  with  a  look  that  seemed  to  bespeak  an 
agreeable  surprise  for  his  pastor,  "  we  are  going  to 
give  you  vacation  for  two  weeks,  and  get  you  to  go 
and  collect  the  money." 

The  Rev.  Petit  collapsed.  He  had  expected  to  see 
the  brethren  put  their  hands  into  their  pockets  and 
pay  the  debt ;  but  his  Icarian  wings  were  melted  at 
once,  and  the  fall  completely  buried  him  in  the  mire. 
He  protested,  argued,  refused.  But  the  resolution  to 
grant  him  a  holiday  for  the  afore-named  purpose  pre- 
vailed by  a  large  majority ;  only  one  or  two  out  of  the 
eight  councilmen  showing  any  compunction  about  im- 
posing a  duty  upon  their  pastor  which  his  soul  seemed 
to  abhor. 

The  arguments  in  favor  of  carrying  out  the  plan 
had  been  irresistible,  and  some  of  them  were  evidently 
framed  with  a  view  to  a  soft  spot  supposed  to  be  on 
the  "gifted  young  clergyman's"  head.  "No  use  to 
work  yourself  to  death  here  without  a  bit  of  recrca- 


46  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

tion."  "Nobody '11  know  what  a  good  speaker 
we've  got.  You  ought  to  be  known  throughout  the 
Church;  so  go  forth  and  let  your  light  shine."  "  Be- 
sides, you'll  succeed.  Jist  give  em  that  sarmont  you 
preached  yisterday,  and  show  the  people  how  much 
more  blessed  it  will  be  for  them  to  give  than  for  us  to 
receive.  Who  wouldn't  sooner  be  a  benefactor  than  a 
beggar  ?  " 

To  all  of  this  there  was  no  sufficient  reply.  Mr. 
Meagre  himself  couldn't  undo  his  Sunday's  work.  So, 
after  passing  an  additional  resolution  granting  the 
esteemed  pastor  the  privilege  of  fixing  up  the  church 
provided  it  "did  not  tax  the  members  of  the  congrega- 
tion, and  noting  that  he  had  said  he  would  sooner 
help  to  pay  a  sexton  himself  than  have  such  a  dirty 
church  —  thus  expressing  unbounded  confidence  in 
whatever  he  would  undertake,  and  recognizing  his 
willingness  to  do  his  part  in  every  good  work  —  the 
vestry  adjourned. 

The  next  week  the  well-dressed,  neatly-gloved 
young  parson  started  out  with  his  tightly-rolled  silk 
Umbrella  done  up  in  a  glazed  cover.  He  knew  he 
would  have  use  for  that  defensive  weapon  even  if  it 
did  not  rain,  for  the  weather  was  intolerably  hot,  and 
all  the  first  day  it  was  a  comfort  to  him,  for  he  sucked 
the  ivory  handle,  or  punched  the  floor  of  the  car  with 
the  other  end  of  it  incessantly. 

Where  to  go  he  did  not  know.  But  there  was  "  no 
pent  up  Utica"  for  him.  He  could  go  where  he 
pleased  only  so  he  got  "the  tin." 


THE    TWO    HOLIDAYS.  4T 

He  tried  to  get  himself  into  sympathy  with  the 
work  before  him ;  to  forget  all  that  he  had  heard  in 
the  vestry  meeting,  and  remember  only  that  his  church 
was  in  debt.  Perhaps,  after  all,  his  people  had  con- 
tributed largely  in  times  past,  and  relief  would  en- 
courage them.  The  point  for  which  he  was  to  ask 
help  was  an  important  one.  He  felt  that,  for  his 
whole  soul  was  absorbed  in  the  success  of  his  mission 
there.  In  the  course  of  his  travels  he  met  two  or 
three  of  his  classmates,  ardent  young  ministers  like 
himself,  who  were  out  on  the  same  kind  of  an  errand, 
and  was  astonished, — utterly  surprised,  to  hear  them 
say  that  such  places  as  Bristol,  Madison,  and  Water- 
town  were  fields  of  more  promise  than  Gainfield,  and 
therefore  had  more  claims  to  consideration.  Indeed 
the  young  parson  thought  it  strange,  at  last,  that  every- 
body did  not  see  things  just  as  he  saw  them.  He  had 
lashed  himself  into  an  idea  that  there  ought  to  be  a 
general  awakening  throughout  the  Church  upon  the 
subject.  How  easy  it  would  be  to  raise  the  small 
amount  that  hung  like  an  incubus  over  the  congrega- 
tion to  which  he  ministered  ! 

He  told  his  doleful  yarn  to  several  of  the  older 
brethren  in  large  and  influential  churches,  and  inno- 
cently thought  that  it  was  a  matter  of  mere  will  with 
them  to  help  him  or  not.  One  old  man,  a  Mr.  Lichter, 
teased  him  awfully ;  "  No  use  to  grease  a  fat  goose's 
back,"  he  said.  "  Here  you  are,  Meagre,  dressed  ever 
so  finely  and  eat  the  best  of  roast  beef,  while  I  have 
to  put  up  with  sauer-kraut  and  spec." 


48  THE     YOUNG     PARS  ON. 

"But,  Brother  Licbter,"  replied  the  young  parson, 
"  would  you  not  sooner  eat  kraut  and  spec  than  any- 
thing else?" 

"  I  believe  I  would,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  don't  make  out  that  you  are  a  martyr,  but 
just  help  me  along,"  said  the  Gainfield  agent. 

"  Well,  Meagre,"  said  Mr.  Lichter.  "It  is  a  poor 
sassage  that  won't  fry  itself.  That  is  all  I've  got  to 
say." 

As  a  general  thing  the  older  brethren  in  the  well- 
established  charges  smiled  at  Rev.  Petit's  earnestness, 
for  he  had  come  out  collecting  in  the  dog-days,  when 
everything  was  stagnant,  and  the  very  politicians  who 
played  agreeable  to  the  people  eleven  months  in  the 
year  were  enjoying  their  four  weeks'  holiday.  "  He 
might  come  again  in  the  fall,  but  at  present  it  was 
impossible  to  move  a  crank  or  turn  a  wheel." 

But  one  or  two  things  the  Rev.  Petit  did  not  do. 
He  did  not  preach  that  "tremenjous  sarmont,"  and 
he  had  not  the  cheek  to  bore  any  one  much.  The 
whole  business  was  disagreeable  to  him.  More  than 
once  he  went  to  places  determined  to  be  importunate, 
and  came  away  without  intimating  that  his  visit  had 
anything  like  business  connected  with  it. 

One  day  the  spruce  little  preacher  had  his  eyes 
opened  to  some  new  facts.  He  went  to  a  gentleman 
noted  for  his  liberality,  and  found  that  his  worthy 
predecessors, — "  them  fellers  that  wasn't  worth  noth- 
in',"  had  already  been  there  and  influenced  a  large 
subscription  —  nay,  that  the  district  Synod  had  years 


THE    TWO     HOLIDAYS.  49 

before  assumed  and  paid  off  two  thousand  dollars  of 
the  debt,  on  condition  that  the  members  of  the  congre- 
gation would  apportion  the  four  hundred  that  re- 
mained among  themselves,  and  pay  it  off — a  con- 
dition reaflily  accepted,  but  never  complied  with. 
The  Gainfield  church  debt  was  therefore  a  byword 
and  a  reproach,  and  a  certain  young  parson  was  ver- 
dant. 

The  Rev.  Petit  was  mortified  and  disgusted.  He 
apologized  and  struck  a  bee  line  for  home. 

When  the  disappointed  vestry  demanded  the  cause 
of  his  failure,  he  replied  by  giving  them  a  little  piece 
of  history  recorded  in  the  Synodical  minutes. 

"  Didn't  think  you'd  go  to  them  fellers  as  did  sub- 
scribe," said  one  old  man.  "Thought  mebbe  your 
daddy  would  pay  it  all  off,  bein'  as  he's  rich." 

'"  I  beg  that  you  will  excuse  me  for  not  having 
asked  him,"  said  the  indignant  young  parson.  "  My 
father  has  enough  to  do  to  support  your  pastor." 

As  Rev.  Petit  had  felt  while  gone  like  a  woman 
who  had  left  a  sick  baby  at  home,  he  was  of  course 
greatly  refreshed  by  his  holiday.  He  afterwards 
found  out  that  from  that  time  he  was  numbered  with 
"  them  fellers  that  wasn't  worth  nothin'." 


50  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    SOCIETY    IN    AND    AROUND    GAINFIELD. 

GAINFIELD  was  a  grand  old  place.  The  scenery 
around  was  beautiful  and  the  land  very  rich.  Many 
of  the  houses  were  venerable  piles,  substantially  built 
of  native  limestone,  or  of  hard-burned  bricks,  some  of 
which  it  was  said  were  brought  from  England  before 
the  Revolutionary  War.  Some  of  the  residences  in 
the  suburbs  were  real  old-time  family  mansions,  sur- 
rounded by  hawthorn  hedges  and  nearly  hidden  by 
trees  and  shrubbery.  In  the  parlors  and  drawing- 
rooms  of  those  houses  were  many  heirlooms  that  some 
people  would  be  apt  to  call  quaint ;  portraits  of  grand- 
parents in  ancestral  dress  ;  solid  silver  plate,  not  half 
as  showy  as  the  galvanized  Britannia  so  common  in 
many  places  now;  and  sideboards,  tables,  sofas,  and 
chairs  elaborately  carved  with  feet  like  a  lion's  head 
or  claws,  but  far  more  suggestive  of  substantial  home 
feeling,  of  respectability  and  comfort,  than  the  rose- 
wood gewgaws  that  we  see  in  this  age  of  cheap  furni- 
ture. 

These  homes  were  owned  by  a  class  of  gentlemen 
that  is  fast  passing  away,  without  much  prospect  of  a 
new  crop  —  gentlemen  of  religious  character,  intelli- 
gence, and  wealth,  who  were  not  spending  their  old 


THE    SOCIETY    OP    GAINFIELD.  51 

age  in  inglorious  ease,  much  less  in  dissipation  or 
hypochondriac  forebodings,  but  pursuing  their  pro- 
fessions, attending  to  their  business,  or  managing 
their  estates  with  a  peculiar  tact  that  always  gave 
them  leisure"  to  enjoy  what  they  had  with  those  who 
came  to  see  them. 

These  men  and  their  families  made  a  very  delight- 
ful community.  There  was  no  wrangling  among  them 
about  superior  birth,  and  no  talk  to  bolster  up  their 
social  standing,  for  such  things  were  unnecessary  in 
their  case.  They  were  not  afraid  to  bend  lest  they 
might  break,  —  to  be  seen  with  a  poor  mechanic  or 
laborer,  lest  some  one  might  see  it,  and  sneer  at  them. 
True,  there  were  a  few  men  there  who  leaned  a  great 
deal  upon  their  mere  wealth,  or  some  responsible  office 
they  happened  to  hold ;  and  these  and  their  tribes  did 
affect  aristocratic  bearings,  like  the  wives  of  the  bishops 
of  England,  who  know  that  the  accident  of  position 
admits  them  to  the  society  of  lords  and  nobles.  Th'ese 
did  talk  about  ancestry  and  make  a  great  display  of 
dress,  manners,  and  erudition;  and  these  did  give  the 
tips  of  their  fingers  to  the  poor  in  a  style  that  was 
truly  refreshing.  But  with  all  the  splutter,  the  oil 
and  water,  though  often  mixed,  never  truly  combined, 
for  quiet  sentiment  assigned  every  one  a  true  position 
on  the  scale  of  merit. 

Of  course  the  society  was  charming.  The  people 
received  arid  entertained  one  another  more  like  draw- 
ing-room acquaintances  than  like  parlor  visitors.  The 
evening  parties  wore  splendid  —  the  more  so,  because 


52  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

they  occasioned  no  extravagance  and  no  fuss.  "  Father 
and  mother  would  be  glad  to  have  you  spend  this 
evening  with  them," — these  simple  words  from  the 
lips  of  a  bright  girl,  attended  by  her  brother,  were  all 
the  invitation  given.  When  evening  came,  the  old 
and  young  mingled  together  as  if  all  were  of  one  age. 
Sanctified  common-sense  seemed  to  rule  these  social 
hours.  The  dress  worn,  although  often  rich,  was 
always  simple,  and  never  challenged  competition. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  sensible  talk,  but  no  osten- 
tatious display  of  learning,  for  men  had  left  their 
books  and  business  at  home,  and  assembled  for  re- 
laxation. There  was  much  brilliant  wit  too,  but 
every  arrow  was  feathered  with  smiles.  After  an 
hour  or  two  spent  in  pleasant  intercourse,  all  moved 
together  towards  the  dining-room  or  broad  back  ve- 
randah, where  a  table  was  spread  with  elegant  refresh- 
ments and  decorated  with  evergreens  and  flowers,  and 
did  justice  to  the  viands.  Soon  afterwards  the  com- 
pany dispersed,  as  often  as  not  some  young  beau 
escorting  an  aged  grandmother  home,  and  an  old  man 
and  his  wife  going  squares  out  of  their  way  to  see  a 
blooming  girl  of  sixteen  safely  within  her  father's 
house. 

Of  course  such  parties  left  no  unpleasant  traces 
behind  them.  The  next  morning  business  and  duty 
went  on  with  their  regular  flow.  There  were  no 
headaches,  for  there  had  been  no  dissipation.  No 
one  felt  slighted,  for  there  had  been  no  impolite  dis- 
criminations. No  one's  feelings  had  been  wounded, 


THE    SOCIETY    OF    GAINFIELD.  53 

for  no  rude  remarks  had  been  made.  Every  memory 
was  pleasant.  There  was  no  gossip.  If  the  gather- 
ing of  the  night  before  was  referred  to,  it  was  spoken 
of  as  a  delightful  little  episode  in  the  social  life  of  the 
town.  There  was  no  effort  to  depress  it  by  criticism, 
and  no  attempt  to  outvie  it  by  something  more  splen- 
did. The  mothers  were  noble  minded  and  catholic 
hoarted ;  the  sons  manly,  generous,  and  honorable ; 
and  the  daughters,  especially,  free  from  low  jealousy. 
Some  of  the  girls  had  fine  voices,  yet  none  of  them 
were  envious  of  Minnie  Blythe  the  evening  she  sang 
the  Echo  song  so  sweetly  at  Mary  Roberts's  promenade 
party  ;  but  just  held  their  breath  until  she  was  done, 
and  then  encored  her  until  everybody  forgot  to  ask 
them  to  sing.  There  was  among  them  almost  every 
style  of  beauty,  yet  every  one  of  them  said  Vera  Ban- 
ker, with  her  sweet  face  and  golden  hair,  impersonated 
the  angel  the  night  of  Carrie  Phillips's  tableau,  better 
than  any  one  else  could  have  done  it.  There  were  no 
sneers,  no  suppressed  "tuts"  and  "pshaws!"  while 
she  stood  there  so  much  like  a  real  angel ;  and  when 
the  representation  was  over  they  all  kissed  her  and 
whispered  to  one  another  that  she  was  sweet.  Even 
the  few  who  had  gotten  upon  the  wrong  side  of  twenty- 
five,  and  seemed  to  have  some  trepidation  on  the 
matrimonial  question,  did  not  seem  to  be  disaffected 
towards  those  who  were  younger  and  had  better  pros- 
pects of  success. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  society,  such  as  has  just 
been  described,  not  only  in  Gainfield,  but  in  the  country 
5* 


54  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

around,  even  down  to  Pumbeditha,  and  the  region  round 
about  tbat.  But  very  little  if  any  of  tbis  was  to  be 
found  in  Mr.  Meagre's  congregation,  especially  in  Gain- 
field.  Yet  to  this  society  Mr.  Meagre  was  kindly  in- 
vited. Respectability  seemed  to  be  the  only  passport 
required,  and  as  the  clerical  profession  was  highly 
honored  there,  this  bespoke  for  the  young  parson  a 
double  welcome.  Yet  all  of  this  was  declined  for 
some  time,  for  various  reasons.  The  young  preacher 
did  not  know  these  people,  and  he  did  know  that  his 
congregation  belonged  to  a  different  class,  and  that  in 
some  places  his  denomination  had  been  simply  patron- 
ized. Yea,  even  here  it  had  been  told  him  that  Dr. 
Mound,  after  taking  away  the  best  of  his  flock,  had 
on  one  occasion  looked  up  at  the  tablet  in  front  of  the 
church  as  he  passed — a  tablet  bearing  in  two  lines  the 
name  of  the  church  and  its  date  —  and  as  though  it 
were  a  sign,  exclaimed  : 

"  Cakes  and  beer 
For  sale  here." 

But  Dr.  Hale,  Dr.  Mound's  successor,  a  noble  man 
himself,  denied  this ;  and  as  he  had  opportunity  to 
know  the  man  and  some  facts  in  his  history,  the  Rev. 
Petit  was  satisfied.  Mr.  Meagre  had  perhaps  a  mor- 
bid pride  upon  these  subjects,  and  not  only  chose 
to  devote  all  his  time  to  his  own  people,  but  opined 
that  the  elite  around  him,  if  the  pure  gold,  would  re- 
spect him  all  the  more  for  doing  so.  He  knew  that  it 
was  the  highest  honor  to  labor  among  the  lowly,  and 
he  preferred  to  commend  himself  by  his  own  merit 


THE    SOCIETY    OF    GAINFIELD.  55 

rather  than  by  the  recommendations  of  others.  So 
he,  perhaps  foolishly,  declined  even  to  deliver  the  let- 
ters of  introduction,  until  at  last  common  courtesy 
absolutely  demanded  it,  and  he  never  sacrificed  a  pro- 
fessional duty  for  the  sake  of  mere  social  enjoyment. 
But  he  soon  learned  to  know  that  the  advantages  of 
good  society  were  not  to  be  despised ;  nay,  that  they 
would  help  rather  than  hinder  his  work.  In  one 
opinion  he  was  confirmed.  The  educated  people  did 
respect  him  more  for  his  faithful  performance  of  duty, 
than  they  would  have  done  had  he  been  ashamed  of 
his  people  or  slighted  his  work. 

It  must  not  be  thought  strange  that  as  great  a  dis- 
parity between  people  as  that  described  in  these  papers 
should  exist  in  the  same  community.  This  is  often  the 
case.  Once  when  at  a  noted  old  seminary  in  one  of 
the  Atlantic  States,  Mr.  Meagre  was  sent  up  the  Hud- 
son river  to  "  fill  a  pulpit."  No  one  need  be  told  that 
the  wealth  of  the  Empire  City  overflows  in  that  di- 
rection, and  that  almost  every  prominent  point  on  the 
river  is  crowned  with  a  villa,  for  these  facts  are  almost 
as  noted  as  the  beautiful  scenery  of  that  region.  There 
the  young  preacher  was  thrown  into  contact  with  men 
vhose  names  are  intimately  connected  with  the  politi- 
cal and  religious  history  of  the  nation,  and  yet,  in  the 
midst  of  these  people  he  found  those  who  not  only 
looked  upon  the  beauties  of  earth  and  sky  with  the 
apathy  of  oxen,  but  who  did  not  know  what  was  meant 
by  family  prayers.  For  after  Rev.  Petit  had  tried  to 
explain  the  nature  and  object  of  these  devotions,  and 
to  engage  those  with  whom  he  stayed,  in  them,  he  arose 


56  THE    YOUNG    ^PARSON. 

from  his  knees  on  one  occasion,  and  found  the  mem- 
bers or  the  family  standing  around  him  in  mute  won- 
der ;  and  the  first  remark  they  made  was,  "  It  is  so 
funny  to  see  you  preachin'  on  your  knees  at  that  cheer, 
just  like  in  meetin'." 

Besides,  many  of  those  whose  ideas  and  speeches 
have  been  set  forth  in  the  previous  chapters  of  this 
wondrous  history,  were  perhaps  extreme  characters ; 
and  yet  such  characters  are   scattered  through   the 
congregations  all  over  the  land  —  men    and  women 
who  are  thorns  in   the  flesh  of  many  hard-working 
pastors.     Dr.  Kay  was  not  without  at  least  one  of 
thorn,  for  one  day  when  Mr.  Meagre  was  permitted  to 
look  over  one  of  the  Doctor's  sermons,  he  found  written 
on  one  corner  of  the  manuscript,  "  Surcingle,"  and 
upon  inquiry  he  found  that  the  good  brother  whose 
name  was  there  inscribed,  although  not  a  very  bad 
man  at  heart,  had  bothered  even  his  imperturbable 
pastor  sufficiently  to   mar  his  comfort  in  delivering 
that  discourse.     Misery  loves  company,  and  Mr.  Mea- 
gre took  comfort  from  this ;  that  is,  he  found  he  was 
not  the  only  man  who  had  troubles  of  the  kind,  and 
never  doubted  his  friend's  ability  to  sympathize  with 
him,  even  though  Brother  Surcingle  was  the  only  case 
Mr.  Kay  had.     He  afterwards  found  that  Rev.  Mr. 
Corneel  had  several  of  this  kind ;  yet  even  this  was 
not  so   bad,  for  in  Mr.  Meagre's   congregation   this 
element  preponderated.     But  then  Mr.  Meagre  had 
some  few  good  men  too,  even  in  Gainfield,  but  more 
especially  at  Pumbeditha. 


VISITING    COUNTRY    MEMBERS.          57 


CHAPTER  VII. 

VISITING    THE    COUNTRY    MEMBERS. 

PUMBEDITHA  was,  or  rather  had  been,  of  course,  a 
place  of  wonders.  It  was  called  after  an  oriental  city, 
where  the  people  are  said  to  have  shown  the  golden 
palm  tree,  and  such  like.  This  modern  Pumbeditha 
is  said  to  have  had  a  visit  from  a  Southern  branch  of 
the  family  of  Salem  witches  about  three-quarters  of 
a  century  ago.  Old  Mr.  Gottleib,  the  tavern-keeper, 
remembered  their  manifestations  well,  and  told  many 
stories  about  them.  Indeed,  there  were  some  docu- 
mentary evidences  to  show  how  far  their  presence  and 
power  were  believed  in  times  past.  They  had  now 
departed,  however,  it  was  hoped  never  to  return,  al- 
though old  Christopher  Ludwig  thought  they  rode  his 
colts  (as  he  often  found  a  stirrup  in  their  manes),  and 
kept  an  inverted  horseshoe  nailed  over  his  door,  on 
the  side  of  the  house  furthest  from  the  creek,  to  keep 
the  intruders  out.  From  the  side  nearest  the  creek 
he  feared  no  invasion,  as 

"A  running  stream  they  dare  na  cross." 

Moreover,  if  reports  were  true,  the  village  had  once 
been  the  seat  of  all  kinds  of  wickedness.  It  was 
situated  at  a  point  where  many  roads  crossed  each 


58  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

other,  and  was  equi-distant  from  several  towns  of  more 
or  less  importance.  At  this  place  all  the  villany  of 
these  towns  and  the  surrounding  country  found  its 
expression  on  Sundays — the  appointed  time  for  card- 
playing,  horseracing,  cockfighting,  drunkenness,  and 
worse  things. 

But  the  town  afforded  an  illustration  of  the  power 
of  grace  for  the  overthrow  of  Satan.  Eminent  and 
earnest  men  had  labored  there,  and  their  prayers  and 
preaching  had  not  been  in  vain,  for  the  place  had 
vastly  recovered  from  its  past  ill-fame.  Good  men 
lived  there.  Among  these  were  some  of  rare  intelli- 
gence— old  Dr.  Arlington,  for  instance,  who,  although 
past  seventy-five,  had  such  a  memory  of  Homer  and 
Virgil  that  Rev.  Petit,  just  fresh  from  the  schools,  was 
obliged  to  brush  up  his  "  little  Latin  and  less  Greek," 
to  keep  him  company.  There,  too,  lived  Mr.  Middle- 
ton,  and  around  this  place  dwelt  many  of  Mr.  Meagre's 
country  members. 

These  people  were  nearly  all  well-to-do  in  the  world, 
either  living  on  small  farms  of  their  own,  or  else  en- 
gaged as  tenants,  whose  bargains  with  the  "  lord  of 
the  manor  "  gave  them  ample  opportunity  to  gain  an 
honest  living.  They  were  evidently  a  growing  people 
—  a  people  growing  in  grace.  Horseracing  on  the 
way  from  church  had  long  been  given  up,  as  discred- 
itable to  any  community,  and  the  old  practice  of  fee- 
ing the  parson  with  hard  soap  and  dried  apples  was 
giving  way  to  a  more  liberal  policy.  True,  some  of 
them  had  been  in  the  habit  of  giving  fifty  cents  yearly, 


VISITING    COUNTRY    MEMBERS.  59 

which  amount  they  took  out  of  the  old  stocking  leg, 
and  always  handed  to  the  preacher  in  propria  persona 
after  church ;  partly  to  be  certain  that  it  reached  its 
destination,  and  partly  with  the  idea  of  having  their 
distinguished  liberality  acknowledged  ;  -but  they  had 
honestly  thought  that  enough,  and  after  Mr.  Meagre, 
in  compliance  with  an  order  of  Synod,  preached  on 
pastoral  support,  they  doubled  their  subscriptions. 

These  people  were  to  be  visited,  and  it  afforded  the 
young  parson  pleasure  to  do  so,  as  he  felt  convinced 
that  they  were  anxious  to  have  him  come  to  see 
them.  They  would  send  for  him  and  take  him  back 
to  Mr.  Middleton's  at  any  time  that  he  would  desig- 
nate, and  very  often  the  programme  on  the  farm  was 
modified  to  suit  his  convenience.  The  "  gude  wife" 
had  everything  about  the  house  in  good  trim  —  the 
porches  scrubbed,  the  tin  things  shining  like  the  sheen 
of  the  sea,  and,  if  it  were  the  season,  a  large  bunch 
of  lilacs  or  snowballs  before  the  fireplace  in  the 
parlor.  The  men  did  not  count  on  more  than  half  a 
day's  work,  as  they  wished  to  spend  some  time  with 
the  parson.  They  took  pride  in  showing  him  the 
stock,  told  him  all  about  their  farming  operations,  and 
listened  attentively  to  some  sage  remarks  he  occasion- 
ally made  about  the  use  of  lime  as  a  fertilizer. 

The  only  difficulty  was  that  these  kind  people  knew 
little  of  the  importance  of  time  to  the  young  minister. 
It  was  scarcely  considered  a  visit  if  he  did  not  "  stay 
all  night,"  and  would  have  been  thought  a  slight  if 
he  had,  in  any  case,  not  stopped  long  enough  to  take 


60  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

a  "meal's  victuals"  with  them.  So  Rev.  Petit's  feet 
were  stuck  under  many  a  table,  and  the  more  he  ate 
the  more  he  increased  his  popularity.  They  gave 
him  the  best  in  the  smokehouse  and  dairy,  and,  as 
usual,  it  was  said  upon  good  authority  that  the  poul- 
try yard  was  laid  under  heavy  contributions  whenever 
the  little  preacher  was  expected. 

To  give  some  idea  of  the  variety  and  quantity  set 
before  him,  the  following  inventory  of  the  contents 
of  a  table  may  be  copied  from  his  diary.  „ 

"  The  central  dish  before  me  contained  three  broiled 
spring  chickens,  with  their  legs  crossed,  and  orna- 
mented with  their  own  livers  and  gizzards.  This  dish 
was  bounded  on  the  north  by  enough  fried  ham  to 
satisfy  six  men  with  moderate  appetites ;  on  the  south 
by  a  corresponding  quantity  of  beef,  with  suitable 
gravy ;  on  the  east  by  a  round  plate  piled  high  with 
cold  veal  and  stuffing ;  and  on  the  west  by  a  similar 
plate  filled  with  chip-beef.  That  was  all  the  meat,  I 
believe." 

"  On  one  corner  of  the  table  was  about  a  hat- full 
of  biscuits,  and  on  the  other  was  an  old-fashioned, 
oblong,  red,  tin  bread-pan,  with  a  full  loaf  sliced  in  it. 
'Plenty  of  the  staff  of  life,'  said  I  to  myself,  but  my 
musings  were  disturbed  by  mine  hostess,  who  held 
before  me  a  plate  of  hot  flannel  cakes,  upon  which 
melted  butter  had  been  poured  before  they  left  the 
kitchen.  And  as  it  was  thought  they  might  require 
more  to  make  them  go  down  easily,  a  roll  of  fully  two 
pounds  of  wwmelted  butter  was  put  within  my  reach. 


VISITING     COUNTRY     MEMBERS.  61 

Besides  these  things,  the  following  articles  were  on 
the  table  :  Three  varieties  of  pickles  —  cucumbers,  red 
beets,  and  cabbage  ;  three  ditto  preserves  —  peaches, 
plums,  and  cherries;  one  bowl  cottage  cheese,  with  a 
tablespoon  in  it ;  one  plate  of  '  store  cheese,'  and  half 
a  bread-basket  of  ginger  crackers  to  top  off  with.  To 
wash  all  of  this  down,  Mrs.  Fulton  had  prepared  a 
half-gallon  tin  coffee-pot  of  Java,  which  being  de- 
clined, she  produced  a  tea-pot  with  the  lid  tied  to  the 
handle,  filled  with  a  strong  decoction  of  Young  Hy- 
son, or  some  other  variety  of  the  Chinese  staple. 

"  '  I  am  sorry,  madam,  but  I  never  drink  tea  either,' 
quoth  I,  whereupon  she  uncovered  a  pitcher  of  very 
rich  milk.  I  drank  a  full  tumbler  of  that  to  satisfy 
Mrs.  Fulton,  and  found  it  so  palatable  that  I  drank 
another  to  satisfy  myself." 

Be  it  remembered  that  this  slight  repast  was  pre- 
pared for  Mr.  Meagre  alone.  The  husband  and  the 
son  had  taken  a  drove  of  sheep  to  market,  and,  of 
course,  were  not  at  home,  and  the  good  lady,  the 
only  other  member  of  the  family,  did  not  sit  down  to 
the  table  at  all,  but  stood  up  to  hand  things  and 
keep  the  flies  off.  'Yes,  it  was  all  intended  for  the 
minister,  for  there  was  only  one  plate  put  down ;  and 
if  Mrs.  Fulton  calculated  upon  eating  herself  of  that 
supper,  she  must  have  expected  to  put  up  with  the 
fragments. 

Now  no  doubt  Mrs.  Tuber  would  have  thought  all 
of  this  a  very  unfashionable,  if  not  a  very  vulgar  tea. 
She  would  have  scorned  to  cook  as  much  for  dinner  on 
6 


62  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

Thanksgiving-day  for  all  her  boarders,  and  would  have 
adjudged  a  little  bread  and  butter,  with  the  beverage 
she  usually  served,  far  more  respectable  for  profes- 
sional gentlemen.  But  it  is  to  be  doubted  whether 
Mrs.  Tuber  would  not  have  enjoyed  Mrs.  Fulton's 
nicely  cooked  chickens,  et  ceteras,  all  free  of  cost  to 
her,  as  much  as  any  mincing  nabob  ever  relished  his 
French  dainties  at  Delmonico's ;  for  it  was  notorious 
that  she  ate  things  as  unsentimental  as  ham  and  eggs 
for  her  own  supper,  after  the  boarders  had  retired. 
And  had  Mr.  Meagre  been  hungry  he  could  have  dis- 
posed of  a  piece  of  Mrs.  Fulton's  ham,  and  left  enough 
chicken  bones  on  his  plate  to  give  Cuvier  or  Agassiz 
a  hint  as  to  what  fowl  they  belonged,  for  these  dishes 
were  very  savory.  But  what  was  he,  who  had  eaten 
lamb  and  salad  three  hours  before  at  Mr.  Middleton's, 
to  do  with  all  of  this  provision  ?  If  he  could  have 
played  anaconda,  he  might  have  put  himself  around  a 
supply  that  would  have  saved  him  the  trouble  of  feed- 
ing again  for  a  week,  and  could  have  laughed  at  Mrs. 
Tuber  when  she  punished  his  laziness  by  denying  him 
any  breakfast.  And  nothing  would  have  pleased  Mrs. 
Fulton  more.  Indeed,  she  expected  to  judge  of  her 
pastor's  enjoyment  in  her  house  by  the  quantity  he 
ate.  Aware  of  this,  Rev.  Petit  did  the  best  he  could, 
but  made  very  little  impression  upon  the  bountiful 
supply  before  him.  The  good  lady  tried  to  tempt  him 
to  further  indulgence,  setting  the  preserves  and  cream 
before  him,  and  handing  the  ginger  crackers  when  she 
could  not  prevail  on  him  to  take  any  more  meat.  She 


VISITING    COUNTRY    MEMBERS.          63 

apologized  for  the  poor  supper.  "  I  had  expected," 
she  said,  "  to  give  you  green  peas  and  kidney  pota- 
toes, but  the  season  for  them  is  over  now.  If  you  get 
hungry  before  bedtime  you  must  tell  me,  and  I  will 
try  to  get  you  something.  Pity  the  oats-apples  are 
not  ripe.  Mr.  Jacobs,  that's  our  preacher  before  you 
came,  was  wonderful  fond  of  them.  When  Jerry 
Sneathen  comes  for  his  cow,  I'll  get  him  to  shake  you 
some  early  pears.  I  would  knock  them  with  a  rake- 
handle,  but  a  body  don't  get  the  best  that  way." 

At  another  place,  one  winter  evening,  Mr.  Meagre 
sat  down  to  a  supper  of  which  the  following  was  the  bill 
of  fare :  A  coil  of  sausage  that  would  have  about  cov- 
ered the  bottom  of  a  half-bushel  measure ;  a  considera- 
ble quantity  of  "pudding;"  several  joints  of  chine; 
spare  ribs  from  half  a  hog ;  three  layers  of  scrapple 
on  a  big  turkey  dish ;  two  soup  plates  stacked  with 
mashed  potatoes;  two  bowls  of  dried  fruit  —  apples 
and  cherries  stewed  together ;  two  prints  of  butter, 
shaped  like  miniature  kegs ;  a  variety  of  preserves 
and  pickles  in  saucers;  several  pies,  and  a  sponge  cake. 

In  this  case,  however,  there  were  six  persons  to  eat. 
Mr.  Meagre  had  been  out  all  day,  and  had  a  morbid 
appetite ;  so  he  ate  several  inches  of  the  sausage,  and 
dreamed  all  night  that  he  was  falling  off  a  church- 
steeple,  or  pursued  by  bears. 

Perhaps  the  two  suppers  just  described  were  a 
little  more  bountiful  than  many  others,  yet  the  most 
of  those  spread  before  Mr.  Meagre  were  distinguished 
for  abundance.  It  seemed  strange  to  him  that  some 


64  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

of  the  people  who  were  so  profuse  in  this  way,  were 
so  illiberal  in  another.  The  food  they  cooked  for  a 
single  meal,  when  the  parson  was  expected,  would 
have  brought,  at  an  available  market  valuation,  a  sum 
equal  to  twice  the  amount  they  subscribed  for  his 
salary.  Could  the  young  preacher  have  converted 
all  that  was  prepared  for  him,  and  to  which  he  was 
welcome  there,  into  coin,  it  would  have  been  of  vast 
service  to  him ;  but  it  was  the  custom  to  offer  it  in  the 
form  of  prepared  food,  and  so  it  was  often  a  dead  loss 
all  around.  Still  it  was  a  delicate  matter  for  him  to 
attempt  to  enlighten  them  on  this  point,  and  give  a 
different  shape  to  their  liberality.  Old  Tommy  Whit- 
tleby,  as  they  called  him,  was  so  pleased  with  Mr. 
Me;igre  the  night  he  married  that  couple  at  his  house, 
that,  although  no  member  of  the  church,  he  declared 
if  the  little  preacher  were  a  married  man,  and  had  a 
place  to  keep  'it,  he  would  give  him  a  shoat,  yet  Uncle 
Tommy  never  thought  of  selling  the  shoat  and  giving 
him  the  money ;  and  as  Rev.  Petit  could  not  suggest 
this,  the  shoat  was  left  to  grunt  in  Uncle  Tommy's 
barnyard,  and  the  expression  of  good-will  was  all  the 
little  preacher  got. 

One-third  of  the  young  preacher's  time  was  spent 
in  and  around  Pumbeditha,  and  as  he  did  most  of  his 
studying  in  Gainfield,  this  time  was  spent  among  the 
people.  He  visited  them,  talked  with  them,  and  prayed 
with  them.  In  addition  to  this,  as  was  expected, 

"  He  ate,  and  drank,  and  slept,  and  then, 
He  ate,  and  drank,  and  slept  again." 


THRILLING    INCIDENTS.  65 

This  mere  luxuriating  was  pleasant  enough  at  times, 
though  at  other  times  it  was  a  real  bore.  A  man  gets 
tired  even  of  this.  And  then,  Mr.  Meagre  had  his 
trials  there,  too ;  for  there  were  some  queer  people 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  mention  may  be  made  of 
them  in  the  subsequent  chapters  of  this  distinguished 
work. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THRILLING    INCIDENTS. 

ONE  day,  not  long  after  Mr.  Meagre  had  "settled" 
in  his  new  field  of  labor,  it  was  necessary  for  him  to 
go  from  Pumbeditha  to  Gainfield.  It  happened  to  be 
inconvenient  for  Mr.  Middleton  to  take  him  to  the 
depot  that  day  in  the  "Diligence,"  and  it  was  deter- 
mined to  send  him  alone  on  horseback.  He  could 
carry  his  carpet-bag  and  umbrella  before  him,  and  send 
the  horse  home  by  a  gentleman  who  was  expected  on 
the  train. 

Now  of  all  the  ridiculous  figures  that  Rev.  Petit 
ever  cut,  his  appearance  on  horseback  was  by  far  the 
most  remarkable.  When  a  boy,  he  was  willing  to  risk 
his  neck  on  anything  in  shape  of  a  horse  that  came 
to  his  father's  stable ;  but  those  days  were  past.  He 
he  had  hardly  been  astride  of  a  horse  for  years,  and 
then  at  home,  and  only  on  Boston,  a  venerable  bob- 
6* 


66  THE    YOUNU     PARSON. 

tail,  some  years  his  senior,  upon  whose  back  a  genera- 
tion and  a  half  of  Meagres  had  learned  to  ride.  This 
Boston  was  once  known  all  over  the  country  as  -a 
famous  racker.  In  his  old  age,  however,  he  was  dis- 
tinguished more  especially  for  his  vivacity  and  sure- 
footedness  when  turned  into  a  field,  and  for  his  lazi- 
ness and  liability  to  stumble  when  certain  members 
of  the  family  were  on  his  back.  Prominent  among 
these  was  Rev.  Petit,  who,  after  hard  study  had  made 
him  nervous,  although  armed  with  two  spurs  and  a 
whip,  would  often  compromise  with  Boston  on  two 
miles  an  hour  and  a  safe  neck.  As  may  be  supposed, 
the  young  parson  entertained  the  idea  of  riding  a 
strange  horse  as  Byron  looked  upon  the  ocean,  and  as 
Charley  looked  upon  the  monkey :  —  with  emotions 
of  "pleasing  fear. ' ' 

"You  Protestant  clergymen,"  said  a  Roman  priest 
to  him  one  day,  "do  mortify  the  flesh,  but  it  is  always 
horse  flesh."  This  remark  was  called  forth  by  the 
fact  that  Rev.  Jehu  Gallopaway  had  nearly  killed  a 
fine  animal  the  day  before  by  hard  driving.  Mr. 
Gallopaway  was  a  representative  of  a  class  of  clerical 
horseme*n  whose  righteousness,  alas !  does  not  show 
itself  by  mercy  to  their  beasts.  But  whatever  else 
were  Mr.  Meagre's  faults,  he  did  not  belong  to  that 
class ;  he  was  rather  a  representative  of  that  class  of 
preachers  who,  though  they  may  not  have  much  tender- 
ness of  heart,  or  even  common  judgment,  yet  have  the 
bump  of  self-preservation  too  fully  developed  to  allow 
them  to  be  cruel.  Had  Mr.  Meagre  been  called  upon 


THRILLING    INCIDENTS.  67 

to  die  on  a  battle-field,  or  to  expose  himself  to  deadly 
contagion,  he  probably  would  not  have  hesitated  ;  but 
the  idea  of  having  his  life  knocked  out  on  a  stone 
pile  by  a  beast  that  any  boor  in  the  country  could 
have  managed,  had  too  little  glory  in  it  to  invite 
martyrdom. 

The  Bucephalus  on  which  the  young  brother  was 
to  ride  that  day,  was  just  three  years  old.  Mr. 
Meagre  looked  at  the  brute's  feet  and  saw  that  they 
had  no  shoes  on,  his  only  infallible  sign  of  a  colt.  He 
intimated  that  he  had  fears,  but  Mr.  Middleton  was 
certain  the  animal  was  "safe."  To  be  sure  "the 
critter"  was  rather  awkward  yet  in  his  gait  and  apt 
to  "shy  off"  a  little,  but  not  "generally  skittish,"  as 
Sam  the  ostler  said.  Mr.  Middleton  offered  to  enter 
bail  himself  that  the  colt  would  walk  to  the  dep6t  and 
deposit  his  load  "  safe  and  sound,"  unless  Mr.  Meagre 
would  wilfully  and  deliberately  determine  to  roll  off; 
he  would  not  put  any  one  into  danger,  and  in  giving 
assurances  he  had  depended  more  on  the  gentleness 
of  his  beast  than  on  the  horsemanship  of  his  pastor. 

When  mounted,  it  is  probable  that  Mr.  Meagre 
looked  more  like  a  monkey  in  a  menagerie  than  like 
the  human  part  of  a  centaur,  for  he  leaned  forward 
and  clamped  the  horse's  shoulders  with  his  knees  as 
if  that  hold  was  his  only  dependence.  Some  gentlemen 
whom  he  passed  in  the  streets  of  the  village  wore  a 
peculiar  smile,  and  a  young  lady  in  whom  it  was  said 
llcv.  Petit  was  interested,  peeped  through  the  window 


68  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

blinds  and  laughed.  But  he  was  too  much  concerned 
for  his  safety  to  be  careful  of  appearances. 

The  horse  struck  a  dead  walk  from  the  very  start 
and  did  not  slacken  his  pace  often,  except  when  a  fly 
bit  him,  when  he  would  stop  altogether,  lift  his  hind 
foot  and  kick  it  off,  and  then  resume  the  even  tenor 
of  his  way.  Although  the  distance  to  be  travelled 
was  only  three  miles,  and  Mr.  Meagre  had  an  hour 
and  a  half  to  make  the  journey  in,  he*  found  that  his 
time  was  nearly  out  when  he  got  to  the  end  of  the 
second  mile.  And  now  came  the  question,  Shall  I 
ride  faster  and  run  the  risk  of  being  thrown  off,  or 
take  my  time  and  miss  the  cars  ?  He  took  the  first 
horn  of  the  dilemma,  and  was  duly  rewarded  with  the 
worst  consequences  of  having  taken  both.  For  he 
was  not  only  thrown  off,  but  so  belated  by  the  mishap 
that  the  cars  had  passed  the  station  an  hour  before  he 
got  there. 

The  misfortune  befell  Mr.  Meagre  on  this  wise,:  he 
had  urged  his  Rosinante  into  a  brisk  trot,  when  an 
uncouth  porker,  either  highly  amused  at  the  figure 
before  it,  or  possessed  of  the  spirit  that  entered  into 
its  ancestors  in  the  country  of  the  Gadarenes,  jumped 
out  from  a  mud-hole,  and  making  some  of  the  demon- 
strations peculiar  to  its  kind,  frightened  the  colt  to 
the  sad  discomfiture  of  the  rider.  The  old  toll-gate 
keeper  who  witnessed  the  catastrophe,  said  the  little 
preacher  would  not  have  been  thrown  off  if  he  had 
not  let  go  his  hold  of  the  bridle  and  clutched  his 
umbrella  convulsively  with  both  hands.  As  he  did 


THRILLING    INCIDENTS.  69 

do  this,  however,  and  as  that  useful  appendage  of  a 
traveller  was  in  no  way  fastened  to  the  horse,  there 
was  nothing  to  keep  him  in  the  saddle.  No  bones 
were  broken,  as  the  juvenile  parson  fell  into  a  mud- 
puddle  just  vacated  by  the  irreverent  pig.  His  (we 
mean  the  parson's)  glossy  black  coat,  however,  assumed 
a  drab  color,  which  when  the  warm  sun  shone  upon  it 
turned  into  a  turnpike  grey. 

The  colt,  relieved  of  its  burden,  ran  home  and  gave 
Mr.  Middleton's  folks  an  awful  fright.  Mr.  Meagre's 
only  plan  was  to  brush  his  clothes  as  well  as  he  could 
and  walk  to  the  station.  As  stated  before,  he  got 
there  an  hour  too  late,  and  in  company  with  the  gen- 
tleman who  had  been  waiting  for  the  horse,  walked 
back  to  Pumbcditha,  where  he  was  heartily  laughed 
at.  In  fact,  the  preacher  found  the  village  in  a  state 
of  excitement  in  regard  to  him.  The  exaggerated 
reports  about  his  injuries  had  been  contradicted  by  a 
gentleman  who  rode  into  town. in  advance  of  him,  and 
heralded  the  fact  that  he  was  unhurt  but  dreadfully 
muddy.  This  relieved  the  anxiety  of  the  people,  but 
stimulated  their  curiosity  to  see  him,  now  most  anx- 
ious not  to  be  seen.  He  found  that  he  could  not  avoid 
observation,  for  the  folks  were  all  agog,  and  a  back 
route  over  the  garden  fences  was  impracticable.  So 
through  the  town  he  went.  The  blacksmith  stood  at 
his  shop  door  with  his  leathern  apron  on,  his  hammer 
in  one  hand  and  his  pincers  in  the  other;  the  store- 
keepers just  happened  to  be  fixing  their  goods  on  the 
boxes  out  front ;  the  women  managed  to  be  fastening 


70  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

their  parlor  shutters  or  sweeping  their  pavements,  and 
.  either  peeped  through  the  cracks  or  leaned  on  their 
broom  handles  and  stared.  In  addition  to  this,  an 
ever-increasing  crowd  of  little  boys  met  Mr.  Meagre 
at  the  very  gates  of  the  city,  and  followed  him  through 
the  street  as  they  usually  followed  an  Italian  with  a 
hand-organ.  The  music  the  young  parson  heard  con- 
sisted of  hysterical  giggles,  which  in  one  place  broke 
into  a  loud  laugh.  It  must  be  said  to  his  credit,  how- 
ever, that  he  enjoyed  the  laugh  as  much  as  any  one 
else,  and  afterwards  learned  to  ride  an  old  horse  of 
Mr.  Middleton's  with  some  degree  of  comfort. 

At  another  time  the  young  parson  was  greatly  wor- 
ried by  dogs.  He  had  a  great  fear  of  cross  canines, 
and  his  way  was  frequently  disputed  by  them  when 
going  from  house  to  house  in  the  country  around  Pum- 
beditha  on  pastoral  duty.  At  one  place  a  little  white 
and  tan  spotted  cur,  with  rabbit  ears  and  a  tail  that 
curled  in  a  full  circle,  annoyed  him  excessively ;  not 
that  the  brute  was  formidable,  but  fierce  and  treach- 
erous. Mr.  Meagre  often  tried  to  coax  him,  but 
smacking  lips  and  snapping  fingers  were  all  in  vain. 
Pinkey  declined  all  overtures.  When  approached  he 
would  run  under  a  chair  or  bureau,  as  if  agreeing  to 
a  cessation  of  hostilities,  and  then  violate  his  truce  by 
making  an  unexpected  sally  and  snapping  at  the  cleri- 
cal legs.  Still  Mrs.  Stemple  had  not  sense  enough  to 
keep  him  out  of  the  room,  and  one  day  he  bit  her 
pastor  in  the  heel  while  engaged  in  prayer  with  the 
family.  Fortunately  Mr.  Meagre,  unlike  Achilles,  was 


THRILLING    INCIDENTS.  71 

less  vulnerable  there  than  anywhere  else,  and  the  only 
mark  of  a  wound  that  was  left  was  the  print  of  a 
small  tooth  on  a  piece  of  patent  leather ;  but  the  de- 
votions were  disturbed. 

But  Mr.  Meagre  was  annoyed  more  especially  once, 
when  he  was  staying  "  all  night "  at  the  house  of  a 
parishioner.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hayfield  were  two  of  the 
most  simple-hearted  people  on  the  earth.  They  did 
not  know  that  there  was  a  bit  of  deceit  or  rascality 
in  the  world,  and  it  was  refreshing  to  sit  and  talk 
with  them.  But  their  dogs  were  the  terror  of  the 
neighborhood,  as  they  proved  to  be  to  Mr.  Meagre  on 
that  memorable  August  night.  All  the  members  of 
the  family  had  been  working  hard  in  some  way  or 
other  that  day,  for  they  were  gathering  their  harvest. 
Mr.  Meagre  had  prayed  with  them  immediately  after 
supper,  and  at  dusk  they  went  to  bed.  Thinking  in 
the  honesty  of  their  hearts  that  the  preacher  must  be 
tired  too,  they  gave  him  about  two  inches  of  a  candle, 
and  told  him  that  if  he  choose  he  could  retire  too. 
This  was  hard  enough  for  one  who  was  accustomed  to 
read  until  the  "wee  sma'  hours,"  and  who  was  sleep- 
less as  an  owl  at  best ;  but  necessity  knew  no  law  but 
compliance. 

The  floor  of  the  room  assigned  to  "Brother  Mea- 
gre "  was  nearly  on  a  level  with  the  ground  on  which 
the  house  stood,  and  a  door  opened  on  either  side  into 
the  yard  and  garden.  .  The  bed  in  the  room  seemed 
to  be  used  as  a  depository  for  other  feather  beds 
when  these  were  not  in  use,  for  they  were  piled  upon 


72  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

it  half  way  to  the  ceiling.  How  to  get  on  the  top  of 
this  series  of  beds  was  the  first  question  with  Rev. 
Petit,  and  how  to  sleep  when  he  was  there,  the  sec- 
ond. He  read  until  his  light  gave  out,  and  then  with 
the  aid  of  a  hickory  chair,  the  back  of  which  formed 
a  kind  of  ladder,  he  scaled  the  awful  height  and 
plunged  in.  There  he  sweltered  for  some  time,  for  it 
was  awfully  hot. 

At  length  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  open 
both  doors  and  have  a  current  of  air.  Having  effected 
this  improvement,  he  got  into  bed  again,  and  fell  into 
a  confused  sleep.  What  were  his  dreams  history 
has  never  recorded,  but  he  was  awakened  in  time  to 
find  that  the  dogs  had  not  only  gotten  on  his  trail, 
but  "treed  him."  They  were  in  the  room  not  only 
barking  around  the  bed,  but  trying  to  get  on  it,  and 
pulling  the  cover  at  an  awful  rate.  Darkness  and 
confusion,  fright  and  feathers,  prevented  the  young 
parson  from  seeing  them,  but  their  presence  and  de- 
signs were  apparent  enough.  His  only  safety  was  to 
lie  still,  use  the  bed-cover  as  a  coat  of  mail,  and  call 
for  relief.  How  long  he  suffered  in  this  way  he  did 
not  know  :  it  seemed  an  age,  and  it  might  have  seemed 
two,  but  Mrs.  Hayfield  heard  his  cry  and  relieved  his 
distress  with  all  possible  delicacy  and  despatch.  The 
intruders  were  shut  out,  and  the  young  parson  slept, 
or  tried  to  sleep,  until  morning.  The  joke  was  too 
good  to  be  kept,  but  Mr.  Meagre  has  not  forgotten 
those  dogs  to  this  day. 


BALLS.  73 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BALLS,  AND  HOW  THE  PARSON  COUNTENANCED 
THEM. 

As  already  intimated,  Mr.  Meagre  had  some  diffi- 
culty with  the  youth  of  his  congregation.  That  some 
of  the  boys  were  bad  was  a  notorious  fact.  It  was 
alleged  that  they  played  truant,  swore,  chewed  to- 
bacco, stole  fruit,  and  mutilated  the  shade  trees  on 
the  side-walks.  For  these  things  they  had  not  only 
been  energetically  cudgelled,  but  had  been  penned  up 
until  they  committed  whole  chapters  of  the  Bible  and 
catechism  to  memory ;  yea,  and  they  had  been  even 
required  to  "tend  church,"  as  a  condign  punishment. 
In  cases  of  special  sin,  the  punishment  was  sometimes 
instant  as  well  as  condign.  Old  John  Flailer  had 
stopped  saying  grace  to  drive  Billy  out  of  the  house 
for  laughing  when  the  cat  jumped  on  the  table  and 
stole  the  meat,  while  the  old  man  was  elaborately 
blessing  it.  But  cuffs  and  large  doses  of  doctrinal 
literature  thus  wholesomely  administered,  had  failed 
to  make  the  youngsters  pious.  Indeed,  the  more  the 
old  people  wanted  to  make  the  young  ones  pious,  the 
more  the  young  ones  wouldn't  be  made  pious.  They 
looked  upon  the  Heavenly  Father  as  a'  "  Dreadful 
God,"  and  on  His  religion  as  a  terrible  infliction.  All 
they  knew  of  religion  was  that  everything  they  did 
7 


74  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

was  a  sin,  and  that  all  sin  must  be  punished :  and  if 
they  kept  from  sinning  it  was  because  they  were  afraid 
of  being  "flogged"  for  it.  If  they  had  one  wish 
above  another,  it  was  that  they  could  be  like  boys 
whose  parents  were  not  Christians.  As  it  was,  to 
them  churches  were  dreary  dungeons ;  prayers,  ser- 
mons, Bibles,  and  catechisms,  were  instruments  of 
torture ;  and  pastors  and  parents  were  only  jailers 
and  executioners.  Of  course  the  pastor  of  their  own 
church  was  to  be  master  of  the  inquisition. 

One  Saturday  a  crowd  of  the  boys  went  out  and 
played  ball.  As  most  of  those  very  boys  had  been 
kept  in  limbo  all  the  week  for  catching  and  plucking 
an  old  German's  geese  down  at  Indian  Spring,  this 
new  freak  of  youthful  wickedness  was  looked  upon  not 
only  as  a  palpable  proof  that  punishment  had  done 
no  good,  but  as  an  open  defiant  protest  against  pa- 
ternal restraint.  The  fathers  and  mothers  were  in 
great  distress.  It  looked  to  them  as  if  the  divine 
covenant  had  been  broken  with  them  as  parents,  for 
they  had  trained  up  their  children  in  the  way  they 
should  go,  and  now  they  were  departing  from  it. 
One  thing  was  certain :  the  children  had  not  been 
spoiled  at  home,  for  the  rod  had  not  been  spared. 

Now,  only  a  few  weeks 'before  this,  all  the  youthful 
forces  of  the  congregation  had  been  marshalled  into 
'the  church  and  exposed  to  Mr.  Meagre's  fire  on 
"  disobedience  to  parents."  And  as  if  that  were  not 
enough  to  satisfy  Elder  Strapiron,  that  functionary 
of  the  church  had  "  taken  advantage  of  the  pastor's 


BALLS.  75 

absence  that  afternoon,"  as  he  said,  to  read  to  the 
Sunday-school  about  the  forty-two  children  who  were 
torn  in  pieces  by  she-bears  for  mocking  the  prophet 
Elisha.  Upon  this  piece  of  Bible  history  Elder 
Absalom  had  commented  with  such  intelligence  and 
force,  as  made  up  for  Mr.  Meagre's  deficiency  in  the 
morning.  Now  if  Mr.  Meagre  alone  had  preached 
to  the  children,  this  continued  perversity  might  have 
been  accounted  for ;  but  as  Elder  Strapiron  had  him- 
self preached  on  the*  subject,  the  difficulty  could  not 
be  a  want  of  proper  instruction  and  exhortation. 
However,  it  was  resolved  to  request  the  pastor  to 
preach  a  sermon  against  ball  placing. 

The  request  was  made  with  due  formality.  It  was 
not  charged  that  the  boys  had  violated  any  injunction 
of  their  parents  in  the  case  referred  to,  for  no  re- 
strictions had  been  laid  upon  them ;  nor  had  they 
been  indecorous  or  disrespectful ;  they  had  "  only 
played  ball." 

"  Mr.  Meagre,  couldn't  you  preach  a  special  sarmon 
agin  ball  play 'in '."  To  the  holy  horror  of  the  com- 
mittee, Rev.  Petit  refused  point  blank. 

"  Yes,  but  Mr.  Meagre,  your  perticler  friend,  Dr. 
Kay,  even  has  published  a  sarmon  agin  balls  and 
poplar  amusements  in  gineral.  You  might  at  least 
preach  one.  It's  demanded  by  the  times." 

The  juvenile  preacher's  curly  head  shook  hori- 
zontally. He  had  an  opinion  of  his  own  in  which 
Dr.  Kay  would  probably  concur.  What  that  opinion 
was,  no  one  knew  until  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth 


76  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

of  July,  when  Rev.  Petit  showed  his  colors  by  taking 
a  game  of  ball  with  the  boys  himself. 

When  he  first  came  on  the  ground,  the  youngsters 
were  as  startled  as  if  old  Mr.  Krime  had  caught  them 
in  his  peach  orchard.  Those  who  were  not  scared 
too  badly,  ran  away;  those  who  were,  stood  still  and 
beat  the  ground  with  their  clubs  and  bats.  All  were 
certain  that  the  preacher  had  come  there  with  some 
sinister  motive.  Even  when  he  proposed  to  play  with 
them,  they  thought  he  meant  to -commit  them  to  some 
overt  act,  and  then  bear  witness  against  them.  But 
by  degrees  they  gained  confidence  and  had  a  fine 
game,  although  it  was  remarked  that  not  a  single 
oath  was  sworn  during  the  whole  hour. 

Various  constructions  were  put  upon  this  action  of 
Mr.  Meagre's  by  the  elder  members  of  the  congrega- 
tion. Some  thought  he  was  young  himself,  and  had 
not  yet  gotten  over  his  own  boyish  propensities.  A 
great  many  said  the  preacher  was  taking  part  with  the 
boys  over  against  their  parents.  One  person  was  kind 
enough  to  say  that  Mr.  Meagre  evidently  thought  that 
ball  playing  was  not  sinful  in  itself,  and  not  only  in- 
tended what  he  did  as  a  deliverance  on  the  subject, 
but  perhaps  had  some  good  design  as  far  as  the  boys 
themselves  were  concerned.  This  seemed  to  satisfy 
some,  but  outraged  the  holiness  of  others,  who  declared 
that  they  would  not  go  to  hear  any  man  preach  who 
held  such  theories  and  indulged  in  such  practices.  In 
this  determination  one  or  two  persisted  for  two  weeks, 
and  even  kept  their  sons  from  "  Catechise"  now,  when 


BALLS.  77 

for  the  first  time  in  their  lives  they  wanted  to  go.  Mrs. 
Gibbs  shut  her  Jim  up  in  the  smokehouse  all  day  on 
the  fifth  of  July,  and  did  not  allow  him  to  leave  the 
yard  for  ten  days,  for  fear  "  Meagre  might  spile  him." 
At  the  end  of  that  time  her  necessities  made  her  re- 
lent. She  wanted  salt,  and  sent  Jim  down  the  street 
with  three  cents  to  buy  a  quart.  The  boy  was  so  glad 
'to  be  free  from  "  durance  vile"  that  he  not  only  stayed 
all  day,  but  went  to  the  tavern  and  lost  the  three  cents 
at  a  game  of  toss.  Nor  did  the  evil  stop  here.  Jim 
was  arrested  and  held  to  answer  the  charge  of  petty 
gambling.  la  this  state  of  affairs,  Mrs.  Gibbs  sent 
for  her  pastor  to  relieve  her  distress. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,  Jim  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Meagre,  as  he  entered  the  Mayor's  office. 

"  Playin'  crack-loo  !  "  sobbed  Jim. 

"And  what  is  crack-loo  ?   How  do  you  play  it,  Jim?" 

"  Why  you  go  to  a  place  where  there  aint  no  carpet 
on  the  floor,  and  fillip  up  a  cent,  and  the  feller  that 
gits  nearest  to  the  crack  in  the  boards  when  the  cent 
falls  —  why  he  wins." 

Of  course  Jim's  confession  was  not  taken  as  evi- 
dence against  him,  but  there  was  proof  enough  to 
establish  his  guilt  without  that. 

Mr.  Stanhope,  the  Mayor,  a  noble-hearted  man, 
called  Mr.  Meagre  aside  for  consultation.  He  was 
unwilling  to  destroy  the  boy's  self-respect  by  sending 
him  to  jail  —  a  disgrace  from  which  very  few  boys 
recover  sufficiently  to  be  emulous  of  good.  He  there- 
fore proposed  to  let  Jim  go  with  a  reprimand,  as  this 
7* 


78  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

was  his  first  offence,  if  Mr.  Meagre  would  nominally 
go  his  bail  for  future  good  behavior.  This  the  young 
parson  agreed  to  do,  and  the  fact  was  announced  in 
open  court.  Then  presto  !  change  !  Mrs.  Gibbs,  who 
but  a  few  hours  before  thought  her  pastor  a  very  dan- 
gerous man,  now  declared  that  he  was  the  best  friend 
she  ever  had.  She  almost  fell  upon  his  neck,  perhaps 
would  have  quite  done  so,  had  he  not  quickly  changed 
his  position. 

"  0 !  Mr.  Meagre,"  she  said,  "  I'll  never,  never, 
never  forget  your  kindness,  but  do  tell  me,  what  shall 
I  do  to  keep  Jim  from  taverns  and  gamblin'  ?" 

"Let  him  play  ball,"  said  the  pastor.  Mrs.  Gibbs 
changed  her  sobs  for  a  look  of  mute  surprise,  which 
seemed  to  ask  Mr.  Meagre  if  he  was  not  ridiculing 
her,  but  as  she  remembered  that  he  never  trifled  with 
his  people,  she  soon  concluded  that  he  was  in  dead 
earnest. 

"  I  mean  what  I  say,"  said  Rev.  Petit ;  "  and  as  I 
am  not  only  your  pastor,  but  what  is  more  to  you  just 
now,  Jim's  bail,  and  am  liable  for  him,  I  think  my 
advice  is  worthy  of  some  respect." 

"What  difference  can  playing  ball  make?"  asked 
the  worthy  dame. 

"A  great  deal,  madam.  You  teach  your  boy  that 
everything  is  wrong.  He  finds  out  that  that  is  not 
true,  and  soon  learns  to  think  that  nothing  is  wrong. 
You  make  his  home  so  hot  for  him  that  he  is  glad  to 
run  away  from  it  whenever  he  can.  Make  his  home 
the  most  pleasant  place  to  him  in  the  world,  and  he 


BALLS.  79 

•will  prefer  it  to  any  place  in  the  world.  Allow  him 
innocent  amusements,  and  he  will  not  run  into  wicked- 
ness for  the  sake  of  mere  variety.  Every  engine 
ought  to  have  a  safety-valve,  Mrs.  Gibbs,  to  let  off 
surplus  steam  ;  and  if  you  do  not  allow  your  boy  some 
vent  for  his  animal  life  and  boyish  feelings,  he  will 
burst  one  of  these  days  and  blow  you  up  in  the  pro- 
cess. Old  Fritz,  of  Prussia,  broke  his  son's  flute  over 
his  head,  and  the  young  prince  went  to  playing  cards." 

Mrs.  Gibbs  took  her  pastor's  advice,  and  Jim  im- 
proved in  his  disposition  and  morals.  He  did  not 
care  to  run  the  risk  of  going  to  jail  for  playing  crack- 
loo  when  he  could  play  ball  without  the  fear  of  being 
penned  in  the  smokehouse  for  it.  The  very  next 
Saturday  Jim  came  home  from  his  sport  at  3  o'clock, 
and  satisfied  with  the  play  and  company  he  had  en- 
joyed, did  not  care  to  run  off  down  the  street,  but 
went  into  the  garden  and  hoed  potatoes  without  being 
told  to  do  it.  Mrs.  Gibbs  said  she  had  often  stood 
over  him  with  a  stick  and  made  him  do  it,  but  he 
never  did  it  as  well  as  he  did  it  that  day. 

Not  very  long  afterwards,  Jim  persuaded  the  boys 
to  forego  the  pleasure  of  a  game  of  ball  entirely,  and 
form  a  whitewashing  association  to  improve  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  fence  back  of  the  church ;  and  when 
Mr.  Meagre  came  to  give  them  lessons  in  the  cate 
chism,  he  expressed  his  gratification  at  the  work 
Jim's  part  was  especially  well  done.  He  had  covered 
every  spot  in  the  boards  with  lime  without  splashing 
a  bit  on  the  ground,  and  for  this  the  parson  compli- 


80  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

merited  him.  This  gave  birth  to  a  new  idea  in  the 
boy's  mind.  He  had  always  wanted  to  get  a  situa- 
tion as  driver  of  a  circus  wagon,  but  now  concluded 
that  he  would  learn  to  be  a  house-painter.  The  next 
week  he  called  to  consult  his  pastor  about  it,  and  was 
confirmed  in  the  idea  that  house-painting  would  be 
the  better  of  the  twa  vocations.  In  the  following 
spring  Jim  was  duly  apprenticed,  and  two  years 
afterwards  he  was  not  only  a  consistent  communicant 
member  of  the  congregation,  but  what  was  more  in 
the  eyes  of  some  of  his  older  brethren,  when  the 
church  was  repaired  he  varnished  the  tops  of  all  the 
pews  for  nothing,  and  saved  seven  dollars  and  a  half. 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE  YOUNG 'PARSON  BECOMES  A  SON  OF 
JUBAL. 

BEFORE  Jim  Gibbs's  improvement  was  developed, 
Mr.  Meagre  had  other  cases  somewhat  like  his  in  their 
general  character.  Only  one  of  them  can  now  be 
given. 

Mrs.  Rate's  idea  of  religion  was  expressed  fully 
and  only  by  the  word  "solemnity"  A  visit  from  her 
pastor  always  invested  her  house  with  an  air  of  pe- 
culiar sanctity.  Upon  one  of  these  pious  occasions, 
little  Sam  broke  into  the  room,  blowing  a  willow 


ASONOFJUBAL.  81 

whistle  vociferously.  Mrs.  Rate  was,  of  course,  horri- 
fied at  this  piece  of  unhallowed  temerity ;  and  in  order 
to  show  her  minister  that  she  was  in  no  way  account- 
able for  such  wickedness,  she  disclaimed  all  know- 
ledge of  the  affair,  by  demanding  of  Sam  to  confess 
instantly  where  he  got  that  ugly  thing.  To  the  sur- 
prise of  the  good  woman,  Rev.  Petit  acknowledged 
that  he  had  made  the  whistle  for  the  boy  himself. 

A  clap  of  thunder  from  a  clear  sky  could  not  have 
surprised  her  more.  Did  she  understand  Mr.  Mea- 
gre ?  There  must  be  some  mistake,  and  to  reassure 
herself  she  repeated  the  inquiry  ;  and  the  young  par- 
son, in  a  set  speech,  avowed  distinctly,  emphatically, 
and  unequivocally,  that  he  was  the  maker  of  the  eccen- 
tric production  in  Sam's  mouth. 

"  I  made  it,"  he  said,  "and  I  made  it  for  Sam.  I 
found  him  down  by  the  Indian  Spring,  fishing  for 
tadpoles  in  the  mud ;  and  to  keep  him  from  getting 
wet  and  dirty,  as  well  as  to  stop  his  persecution  of  a 
crop  of  prospective  frogs,  I  made  him  that  whistle 
from  a  willow  branch  that  hung  over  the  stream,  and 
taught  his  infant  lips  to  blow  it." 

"  Yes,  and  mam,"  said  the  namesake  of  Weller's 
son,  "he  broke  a  bran  splinter  new  knife  a  doin'  it, 
and  didn't  cuss  nor  say  nuthin'  bad  like  you  did  when 
you  broke  pap's  old  one  trimmin'  the  curran'  bushes." 

Mrs.  Rate  looked  daggers  at  Sam,  and  said  some- 
thing to  the  effect  that  "  children  and  fools  never 
speak  the  truth,"  but  part  of  the  remark  was  lost  to 
the  parson,  as  his  apt  pupil  had  nearly  drowned  the 


82  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

maternal  voice  by  a  long  shrill  toot  of  his  new  instru- 
ment. The  nonplussed  mother  compromised  with 
her  hopeful  by  sending  him  into  the  kitchen  to  have 
his  hands  washed,  and  tried  to  scare  up  some  other 
topic  of  conversation.  When  Mr.  Meagre  arose  to 
leave,  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Rate,  I  have  a  request  to  make 
of  you." 

The  good  lady  had  hardly  the  courage  to  ask  what 
it  was,  as  she  feared  he  might  say,  "  Do  not  use  any 
more  bad  words  when  you  break  an  old  knife,"  but  at 
last  she  stammered  out,  "What  is  it,  Mr.  Meagre  ?" 

"Don't  whip  Sam  when  I  am  gone." 

She  was  of  course  relieved  in  one  way,  but  awfully 
embarrassed  in  another.  At  length  she  asked,  "  Now, 
Mr.  Meagre,  what  makes  you  think  I  am  going  to  lick 
him?" 

"  I  do  not  think  anything  about  it,"  said  he,  "  for 
I  know  it.  I  know  it  by  intuition.  Besides,  I  saw 
it  in  the  thunder-storm  on  your  face  awhile  ago,  and 
I  am  sure  it  is  the  intention  of  your  heart  now.  You 
can  hardly  wait  until  I  am  gone,  and  I  will  not  go 
until  I  have  your  promise." 

"But,  Mr.  Meagre,  what  am  I  to  do  to  keep  him 
from  telling  every  little  bad  thing  that  happens  ?  " 

"  Do  not  say  or  do  any  bad  things.  Now  promise 
me  you  will  not  whip  Sam." 

Mrs.  Rate  was  reluctant  to  give  her  assent.  Re- 
venge was  sweet :  she  was  longing,  yea,  burning  to  tan 
Sam's  hide  completely,  not  for  whistling,  she  did  not 
care  a  fig  for  that  after  she  knew  where  the  whistle 


ASONOFJUBAL.  83 

came  from,  but  for  exposing  her.  But  she,  perhaps, 
argued  that  if  she  did  whip  him  the  parson  would 
"  get  mad  and  have  her  before  the  meetin'  for  sayin' 
bad  words,"  so  she  gave  her  promise,  and  Mr.  Meagre 
took  his  hat  and  left. 

A  few  weeks  after  this  Mrs.  Rate  sent  for  her 
pastor  in  great  haste.  He  of  course  thought  some 
one  was  sick,  dying,  or  dead,  and  obeyed  the  sum- 
mons without  a  moment's  delay. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mrs.  Rate  ?  "  asked  he,  "  can 
I  do  anything  for  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Meagre,  I  sent  to  see  if  you  wouldn't 
make  Sam  another  whistle.  He  didn't  scratch  the 
furniture  or  break  anything  while  he  had  it — just  sot 
still  and  blowed ;  but  I  tramped  on  it  with  my  foot 
yisterday  and  broke  it,  and  I  havn't  had  a  bit  of 
peace  since.  A  body  can  put  up  with  his  noise  when 
he  is  so  good  other  ways." 

Unfortunately,  the  season  was  too  far  advanced  for 
willow  whistles :  the  sap  would  not  run,  and  the  par- 
son could  not  gratify  Mrs.  Rate's  wish,  but  he  bought 
Sam  a  Jews-harp,  and  having  convinced  the  boy  that 
it  was  an  advancement  on  his  broken  whistle,  that 
answered  every  purpose,  and  he  placed  it  in  his  eager 
hands.  When  the  parson  left  this  time,  he  told  Mrs. 
Rate  to  send  for  him  at  any  hour  in  the  night,  rather 
than  get  angry  and  say  bad  words,  or  whip  Sam  when 
there  was  no  necessity  for  it. 

It  soon  became  apparent  that  Mr.  Meagre  differed 
from  his  congregation  in  regard  to  the  symptoms  ex- 


84  THE    YOUNG     PARSON^ 

hibited  by  the  sin-sick  boys,  and  that  he  had  a  differ- 
ent method  of  treatment.  He  publicly  gave  a  "  diag- 
nosis" of  the  prevailing  disease  in  a  sermon  on 
"  binding  heavy  burdens  and  grievous  to  be  borne, 
and  laying  them  on  men's  backs."  From  the  theory 
therein  set  forth  Mr.  Absalom  Strapiron  dissented. 
"I  count  myself  a  Christian,"  he  said,  "and  yet  I 
never  feel  like  playing."  As,  however,  Father  Absa- 
lom acknowledged  that  he  had  fought  "  bumble-bees" 
and  robbed  birds'  nests  on  Sunday,  when  he  was  a 
boy,  and  as  he  remembered  how  his  own  kid  gloves 
had  risen  before  him  like  the  ghost  of  Banquo  when 
he  commenced  to  rail  about  those  the  parson  wore,  he 
subsided,  and  was  content  with  sullen  silence.  Mr. 
Grimp,  too,  thought  all  playing  was  wrong :  —  the 
boys  wore  out  so  many  clothes,  and  his  Bob  had  bro- 
ken a  poor  widow's  window  one  day,  which  everybody 
said  "  Bob's  father  ought  to  pay  for."  But  as  some 
of  Mr.  Crimp's  business  transactions  were  of  doubtful 
propriety,  his  opinion  was  of  very  little  weight  in 
questions  of  morality.  As  for  Mr.  Flailer,  he  said 
right  out  that  the  boys  who  did  such  things  ought  to 
be  served  like  the  bad  boys  in  the  time  of  Moses  — 
"put  out  of  the  city  and  stoned  to  death,"  but  as  he 
had  been  known  to  curse  as  well  as  beat  Billy,  it  was 
said  that  he  could  not  throw  the  first  stone. 

The  women  were  generally  tired  of  beating  their 
children,  and  glad  to  have  a  cessation  of  hostilities, 
on  the  ground  that  it  saved  them  trouble,  if  on  no 
other.  And  besides,  they  could  whip  their  children 


ASONOFJUBAL.  85 

as  much  as  they  pleased  anyhow  —  so  they  yielded 
the  theory  of  leniency ;  and  as  they  were  the  power 
behind  the  throne,  the  popular  sentiment  of  the  con- 
gregation soon  preponderated  vastly  in  favor  of  Mr. 
Meagre 's  views.  Indeed,  they  inclined  to  the  other 
extreme.  The  pastor  was  to  be  an  undisguised  and 
universal  Santa  Glaus,  to  furnish  their  children  with 
toys  and  practise  pleasing  arts  that  would  lull  their 
teething  babies  to  sleep  ;  the  church  was  to  be  a  play- 
room, and  religion  a  matter  of  mere  fun ;  even  the 
severest  duties  of  the  Christian  were  to  be  a  sugar- 
plum affair,  and  Rev.  Petit  was  to  supply  the  confec- 
tions free  of  trouble  and  cost.  It  was  suggested  that 
he  might  say  some  funny  things  in  the  pulpit,  like 
Mr.  Buffoon,  the  temperance  lecturer,  just  to  make  the 
children  laugh  a  little.  One  prominent  member  with 
a  philosophical  mind,  a  sort  of  Lord  Bacon,  had  no- 
ticed that  the  Sunday-school  was  well  filled  "just 
before  the  picnic,"  and  suggested  that  it  would  be 
well  to  have  a  regular  series  of  picnics.  Of  course, 
gingerbread  arid  ice-cream  were  to  be  the  chief  incen- 
tives to  early  piety.  Another  one  of  these  inductive 
philosophers  thought  Mr.  Meagre  was  "  very  incon- 
sistent in  taking  him  to  task  for  getting  tight  and 
tearing  down  a  few  fences  just  for  sport." 

Mr.  Meagre  recollected  the  proverb :  "  Incidit  in 
Scyllam  qui  vult  vitare  Charybdem."  In  getting  his 
bark  off  the  rock,  there  was  danger  of  its  being  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  whirlpool,  and  he  tried  to  steer  between 
the  two. 
8 


86  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"GREAT    EXPECTATIONS"  — THE    LOVE    PART    OF 
THE    STORY   BEGINS— THE   HEROINE   ENTERS. 

ONE  Monday  morning,  probably  an  hour  after  Mrs. 
Tuber's  breakfast-table  had  been  cleared  off,  the 
young  parson's  slumbers  were  disturbed  by  a  knock 
at  his  door.  As,  however,  he  was  expecting  a  pitcher 
of  water,  he  simply  called  out,  "  Come  in,"  and  turned 
over  for  a  few  moments'  additional  sleep.  He  had 
fairly  commenced  to  carry  this  laudable  purpose  into 
execution,  and  probably  would  have  presumed  on  an 
"  extension  of  time,"  had  not  a  series  of  jerks  at  the 
bed-clothes  and  a  few  pokes  in  his  ribs  aroused  him 
to  the  consciousness  that  there  was  a  stranger  in  the 
room,  anxious  for  an  audience. 

Rev.  Petit  was  startled.  He  sat  up  in  the  bed  and 
rubbed  his  eyes  in  a  state  of  bewilderment.  "  Well  ? 
Ah  —  yes  !  Good  morning,  sir.  Can  I  do  anything 
for  you?  Anybody  sick?  Please  be  seated." 

The  visitor  was  a  man  about  fifty  years  of  age, 
rather  above  the  average  height,  with  sandy  hair 
mixed  with  grey,  sharp,  determined  features,  and  a 
pair  of  sparkling  hazel  eyes.  When  asked  to  sit 
down,  he  passed  by  two  or  three  chairs  and  squatted 
himself  on  a  low  ottoman  that  was  placed  near  the 


"GREAT  EXPECTATIONS."  87 

jamb  of  the  ingle.  Having  thus  disposed  of  himself, 
he  took  off  his  hat  —  a  white,  or  rather  a  brownish 
one,  with  long  rough  fur,  and  deposited  it  upon  the 
floor  by  his  side ;  then  pulled  a  bandanna  from  it  and 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  brow. 

"Monsus  warm,"  said  he. 

"Yes,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Meagre;  "I  am  sorry  it 
cost  you  so  much  effort  to  awaken  me,  but  I  did  not 
get  to  sleep  until  four  o'clock  this  morning." 

"  No  difference,  Mr.  Meagre,  I  just  come  to  see  you 
on  a  little  serious  business." 

"  I  am  ready  to  serve  you  in  any  way,  sir,"  said 
the  parson.  "  Just  go  into  the  parlor  below  and  I 
will  join  you  in  a  few  moments." 

"  No  use  at  all :  I  only  wanted  to  engage  you  to 
marry  me  and  another  young  lady  to-morrow  even- 
ing." 

Ha !  my  first  wedding !  thought  the  miniature 
clergyman.  Up  to  this  time  he  thought  the  man  had 
come  for  him  to  preach  his  wife's  funeral  sermon,  and 
was  prepared  to  sympathize  with  him,  but  when  he 
found  that  a  different  task  awaited  him,  the  whole 
affair  presented  itself  in  a  comical  light. 

"And  who  is  the  other  young  lady  ?"  he  inquired. 

"  One  Kit  Carson." 

"Any  relation  to  Texas  Kit?" 

"  Don't  know  ;  'spec'  she  is.  She's  got  a  good  many 
kinfolks,  and  she's  the  best  one  among  'em.  Monsus 
fine  gal,  that." 

"No  doubt  you  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Meagre. 


88  THE    YOUNG     P. ARSON. 

"Yaas,  indeed,  you  must  know  her.  Belongs  to 
your  meetin' ;  sits  right  fornenst  old  Mrs.  Graves,  not 
fur  from  the  front,  on  the  side  towards  the  Court- 
house." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  the  parson,  rubbing  his  forehead 
to  assist  his  memory,  "  she  is  a  small,  spare  woman, 
is  she  not?" 

"  No  indeed ;  she'd  make  well  nigh  on  to  six  peo- 
ple as  big  as  you  are." 

Rev.  Petit  looked  into  the  man's  eyes  and  felt 
convinced  that  he  meant  to  cast  no  reflection,  and 
that  he  was  not  even  irritated  that  so  important  a 
person  as  his  elect  bride  was  unknown  to  her  pastor. 

"I  must  be  mistaken  then,"  he  said,  "but  you 
will  excuse  me,  as  I  am  a  comparative  stranger  here." 

"  Rec'on  you  don't  know  her  yit,  but  I  do,  just  as 
easy.  You  might  have  heard  of  her,  though.  Old 
Mr.  Strapiron  wanted  her  so  bad  when  his  other  wife 
died ;  but  very  like  you  would  not  know  her  by  that 
neither ;  they  say  he  wanted  mighty  nigh  every  gal 
in  the  meetin'  some  time  or  'nother.  He  used  to  be 
lookin'  round  all  the  time  of  sarmont.  Once  he  got 
up  on  his  tip  toes,  to  see  if  somebody  was  in.  He 
allers  got  his  hat  when  they  was  singin'  the  last 
hymn,  and  waited  for  "amen"  like  for  the  word 
"go,"  and  was  out  at  the  front  door  before  the  rest 
of  the  people  got  out  of  their  pews.  One  evenin'  he 
knocked  a  little  child  over,  and  never  stopped  to  pick 
her  up — just  went  ahead  like  as  if  the  meetin'-house 
was  a-fire  and  he  wanted  to  git  out.  Minister  Hugue- 


"GREAT    EXPECTATIONS."  89 

not  give  him  fits  for  it,  said  it  *  wasn't  becomin'  in  an 
elder,'  and  that  was  the  first  of  Mr.  Huguenot's  trouble 
with  him.  I  didn't'  blame  the  minister  much,  though, 
for  Strapiron  did  make  a  goose  out  of  himself.  Why, 
Mr.  Meagre,  afore  his  last  wife  died  he  wouldn't 
blacken  his  boots  —  said  it  was  all  pride ;  he  used 
to  wear  striped  cotton  trousers  that  didn't  come 
much  below  his  knees,  and  a  nankeen  roundabout 
with  a  big  hymn-book  in  the  pocket.  But  as  soon  as 
his  old  woman  was  in  the  grave  he  come  out  in  a  suit 
of  black,  all  except  his  jacket,  that  was  red  and 
yallar,  and  he  wore  a  breastpin,  and  his  shoes  was 
as  shiney  as  them  little  ones  of  your'n  settin  there  by 
that  bedstead;  and  he  always  put  cinnamon  drops 
on  his  handkerchief  to  make  it  smell  good.  How- 
somever,  as  I  was  sayin',  he  was  monsus  anxious  to 
get  this  gal  I  am  to  marry.  He  went  home  with  her 
every  other  Saturday  night  for  two  weeks,  and  went 
in  the  first  time  and  axed  her  to  have  him  afore  he 
was  in  the  house  a  half  an  hour." 

"  Well,  every  other  Saturday  night  for  two  weeks  is 
not  often,  if  you  consider  it  right,"  said  the  pastor, 
apologetically,  "only  once,  you  know." 

"  Yaas,  but  he  acted  so  silly  that  one  time ;  got 
down  on  his  knees  and  cried  like  a  child,  and  prayed, 
and  threatened  to  drown  himself." 

"  I  hope,  sir,  that  the  lady  did  not  tell  you  these 
things?"  the  preacher  said,  inquiringly. 

"Not  she.  I  don't  believe  she  will  give  me  any 
satisfaction  about  'em,  even  after  the  weddin'.  She 


90  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

says  it  aint  honorable,  and  I  aint  goin'  to  ax  her  any 
questions.  You  see,  Tom  Hickman,  that's  her  brother- 
in-law,  know'd  Strapiron  was  a  comin',  and  run  home 
quick  and  crawled  under  a  settee  that  had  a  calico 
cover  in  front  of  the  legs,  to  see  and  hear  the  fun. 
And  when  the  old  man  took  on  so,  Tom  laughed  and 
had  to  come  out,  and  then  he  advised  the  old  feller  to 
go  in  a  swimmin' — just  to  cool  himself  off,  but  said 
there  was  no  use  of  drownin'  himself.  Tom  is  an 
awful  cut  up ;  worse  than  I  am." 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  said  the  clergyman,  as  gravely  as 
possible,  "  that  your  friend  Hickman  did  not  go  too 
far.  It  was  not  right  to  hide  and  listen  to  what  was 
going  on  between  lovers." 

"Mebbe  not,"  answered  the  man,  "but  Tom  said 
if  he'd  a  know'd  the  old  man  was  a  going  to  be  so 
loud,  he  needn't  a  got  under  the  settee,  and  wouldn't 
a  got  cotched  :  he  could  a  just  went  up  stairs  and  took 
the  board  off  the  pipe-hole." 

"  That,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  "  would  not  have  made 
it  any  better.  Do  you  think  it  exactly  right  to  tell 
on  the  old  gentleman  ?  " 

"La,  me  Mr.  Meagre,  Tom  wouldn't  a  never  told, 
if  the  old  man  hadn't  a  done  it  himself  tryin'  to  ex- 
plain things  away  to  people  who  was  in  ignorance  of 
the  whole  thing.  He  spread  reports  in  his  efforts  to 
conterdict  'em,  and  now  everybody  knows  that  he  did 
act  foolish.  It  stands  to  reason  that  was  no  way  to 
court  —  all  so  sudden  like.  A  feller  ought  to  take  it 


"GREAT   EXPECTATIONS."  91 

by  degrees — a  sort  of  draw  'em  on  gradually.  That's 
the  way  I  did." 

"  I  am  without  experience  in  such  matters,"  said 
the  parson,  "  and  you  may  be  right  in  your  idea  of 
the  way  things  should  be  done,  but  I  think  you  can 
afford  to  let  the  elder  rest.  He  is  married  now,  and 
you  ought  to  leave  him  out  of  the  question.  I  sup- 
pose you  are  satisfied,  as  you  are  to  have  Miss  Carson 
for  your  wife." 

"  Ya-a-s,  s-i-r-e-e-e.  She's  what  I  call  a  raal  jewel," 
exclaimed  the  man. 

"And  very  elaborately  set,  I  should  judge,  from 
what  you  have  told  me,"  chimed  in  Rev.  Petit. 

"  That's  true,  she  set  Strapiron  a  flyin', "  quoth 
the  visitor ;  "  said  he  had  too  many  children.  He  had 
three  more  then  than  I  have  now,  and  I  got  eight, 
and  most  of  his'n  warn't  growed  out  of  the  way 
much." 

"  Well,  eight  are  enough  for  any  mortal  woman  to 
begin  with,"  said  the  preacher,  anxious  for  a  truce. 
"  I  do  not  see  how  your  sweetheart's  south-western 
namesake  could  manage  more.  I  will  be  on  hand 
to-morrow  evening." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  man,  "we'll  expect  you  at 
three  o'clock.  Be  sure  and  don't  disappint  us,"  and 
then  he  added,  in  a  whisper,  "  look  a  here,  parson, 
we  want  you  to  keep  this  affair  secret  a  while,  will 
you?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  half 
fearful  of  getting  into  a  scrape,  and  unwilling  to  be  a 


92  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

party  to  a  clandestine  transaction.  "  I  would  not 
like  to  bind  myself.  I  am  under  bond  to  the  State 
and  to  my  conscience  not  to  perform  the  ceremony 
under  certain  circumstances,  and  the  whole  idea  of 
keeping  marriages  secret  is  rather  repulsive  to  me.  I 
cannot  see  what  object  you  have  in  view.  Are  you 
not  of  age?" 

"Anybody  can  see  that  for  himself,"  said  the  man. 

"And  the  other  young  lady.  How  old  is  she  ?  "  in- 
quired the  parson. 

"  Over  forty,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  there  can  be  no  objection  on  that  score. 
Any  cruel  parents  to  oppose  your  youthful  love?" 

"  No,  sir,  our  mammies  and  daddies  is  both  dead 
long  ago." 

"Any  tyrannical  uncles  or  aunts  threatening  to 
disinherit  you  ?  " 

"  The  kitchen's  all  clear  of  them  things,  Mr.  Mea- 
gre." 

"And  no  legal  difficulties  in  your  way  ?" 

"  None,  whatsomever.  To  make  a  clear  breast  of 
it,  parson,  we're  afraid  we'll  get  serenaded.  Kitty's 
hair  skeer'd  to  death,  and  I  am  a  little  oneasy  my- 
solf  on  her  account.  We  had  a  notion  to  go  down  to 
the  State  line,  but  Kitty  said  it  looked  too  much  like 
runnin'  away  for  her,  and  they'd  be  sure  to  find  it  out 
and  give  it  to  us  when  we  come  home.  So  we  thought 
we'd  get  married  before  night  and  get  a  horse  and 
buggy  and  take  a  short  voyage  up  the  pike,  and  come 
back  after  all  the  boys  is  gone  to  roost.  And  then 


"GREAT  EXPECTATIONS."  93 

you  know  I  wouldn't  keep  a  lettin'  on  for  some  time, 
till  the  whole  thing  blowed  over  like." 

The  young  servant  of  the  Church  found  that  he 
had  struck  a  rich  vein,  and  he  resolved  to  open  it. 
"  0,"  he  said,  "is  that  the  reason  you  want  to  be  so 
sly  ?  I  should  think  a  serenade  would  be  compliment- 
ary." 

"  So  it  would,  if  it  was  the  right  sort  of  a  one, 
such  as  they  give  the  gov'ner  when  he  was  here :  but 
they  do  it  with  a  horse-fiddle." 

"A  horse-fiddle!  What  is  that?"  asked  Rev. 
Petit,  with  an  air  of  innocence  that  would  have  well 
become  one  who  did  not  know. 

"  Why,  bless  your  soul,  it's  awful.  Never  hear 
one?  You  know  they  get  out  what  they  calls  a  Cally- 
thumpian  band ;  some  people  calls  it  an  ox  band. 
They  have  tin  horns,  and  buckets,  and  cow-bells,  and 
what's  worse,  a  horse-fiddle.  They  take  a  big  strong 
store-box,  put  about  two  pounds  of  rosin  on  it,  and 
use  a  heavy  scantling  for  a  fiddle-stick.  About  a 
dozen  catch  a  hold  of  each  end,  and  draw  it  over  as  if 
they  was  gitting  out  shingle  stuff  with  a  crosscut-saw. 
It  does  make  a  power  of  noise.  Elephant  grunt  aint 
nothin'  to  it.  So  onpleasant  too,  to  one  that  ain't  used 
to  it.  The  first  time  I  heard  one  of  them  things  I 
thought  I'd  sooner  hear  a  drove  of  these  here  shave- 
tailed  Kentucky  mules  holler.  It  was  up  on  Turnip 
Hill,  all  of  the  horses  got  to  nickerin'  and  pawin'  in 
the  stables,  and  the  cows  was  bellowin'  sill  over  town. 
'Spec'  they  thought  the  world  was  comin'  to  an  end — 


94  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

was  a  pretty  sharp  sprinkle  of  Millerites  in  them  days 
anyhow.  And  it  did  look  strange  to  see  the  women 
and  all  come  out  in  white,  just  like  that  man  that 
preached  in  the  market-house  said  it  would  be  in  the 
last  time.  I  tell  you  the  whole  town  was  excited  in 
gineral.  It  was  the  funniest  thing  ever  heard  tell 
of.  Fact  is,  some  of  the  boys  that  worked  the  fiddle 
got  skeer'd  themselves  at  the  noise  it  made  and  run 
away.  Mayor  Stanhope  sent  the  police  to  stop  it, 
but  it  wasn't  no  kind  of  use.  They  was  too  many  of  us, 
or  rather  of  them.  They  was  too  many  of  them.  We  all 
had  on  old  clothes,  so  that  nobody  wouldn't  know  us." 

"  You  mean  that  they  all  had  on  old  clothes,  so  that 
they  would  not  be  known,"  interrupted  the  parson. 

"  No  use,  Mr.  Meagre,  a  body  will  get  ketched,  and 
if  nobody  else  don't  ketch  a  feller,  he'll  be  sure  to 
ketch  himself." 

By  this  time,  Rev.  Petit's  risibility,  which  had  been 
kept  down  with  some  effort,  became  uncontrollable. 
He  fell  back  on  the  bed  and  laughed  immoderately, 
and  his  visitor  joined  in  the  chorus.  When  he  had 
thus  relieved  himself,  he  said,  "  Come  now,  tell  me 
all  about  it ;  were  not  you  engaged  in  that  serenade  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  bridegroom  elect,  blushing,  and 
evidently  embarrassed,  "  it's  a  queer  thing  to  confess 
to  a  minister — didn't  'spec'  to  do  so  when  I  come  here, 
but  I  don't  think  you'll  judge  me  hard,  or  use  your 
influence  agin  rne  with  Kitty,  who  thinks  a  power  of 
you,  so  I'll  own  up  that  I  was  in  that  serenade  —  one 
of  the  principal  ones,  and  I  afterwards  helped  to 


"GREAT   EXPECTATIONS."  95 

serenade  Strapiron.  Had  a  pig,  a  screwing  its  tail 
that  night,  to  make  it  squeal." 

This  last  declaration  set  the  little  parson  off  into 
another  fit  of  laughter,  from  which  it  took  him  some 
time  to  recover.  "And  now,  sir,"  he  said  as  soon  as 
he  could  regain  his  gravity,  "  is  not  this  the  ground 
of  your  fear,  that  you  will  he  serenaded?" 

"  Rather  'spec'  they'll  be  up  to  givin'  old  Nick  a 
taste  of  his  own  porridge." 

"Is  your  name  Nicholas?"  asked  the  minister, 
gravely. 

"  No,  sir,  that's  only  a  sayin'  I  used  just  now.  My 
name's  Michael,  but  they  call  me  Mike  for  short." 

"  Michael !  well,  that  name  savors  of  something 
better.  I  do  not  wonder  at  your  success  ;  only  you 
should  not  bring  a  railing  accusation  against  your  ad- 
versary, even  if  he  were  much  worse  than  he  is,"  said 
the  preacher,  anxious  to  inculcate  a  lesson.  "  Still, 
people  mVAvname  you.  But  you  surely  do  not  think 
that  my  ruling  elder  will  return  your  compliment  ?  " 

"  No,  sir.  Don't  'spec'  he  would,  but  there  is  plenty 
that  will  do  it  for  him.  Some  of  his  boys  and  shop 
hands  would  do  it  unbeknowns  to  him." 

"  Well,  but  I  should  think  you  would  not  mind  it  if 
done  in  the  spirit  of  fun,  that  is,  I  do  not  think  you 
would  be  offended  at  it." 

"  Not  me.  I'd  like  it,  but  then,  Kitty — she  might 
have  her  feelins  hurt,  and  I  would  not  have  that  done 
for  a  slate  farm.  Kitty's  a  good  girl,  Mr.  Meagre,  if 
I  am  bad.  She  talked  mighty  purty  to  me  last  night 


96  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

about  jinin'  the  meetin',  and  I'm  afraid  I  will  have  to 
do  it  one  of  these  days.  It  was  the  first  time  I  cried 
for  a  good  many  years,  and  I  hated  to  do  it ;  it  seemed 
a  kind  of  weak,  but  I  couldn't  help  it,  and  I  did  try 
to  pray  when  I  went  home,  but  somehow  it  seemed 
awkward  to  me,  and  yit  my  conscience  would  not  let 
me  stop." 

The  man  was  evidently  sincere.  A  tear  had  mois- 
tened his  eye  as  he  spoke  these  words.  Here  was  a 
positive  character,  and  the  young  parson  resolved  to 
pay  some  attention  to  it.  Mike  had  perhaps  been  wild 
in  his  earlier  years,  and  some  traces  of  a  natural  dis- 
position and  of  habit  might  linger  yet ;  but  he  respected 
his  intended  wife's  piety — was  frank  and  open  to  good 
influences.  And  he  was  about  to  be  surrounded  by 
these  good  influences. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  Mr.  Meagf  e  identified  Kitty 
Carson  in  his  own  mind.  "  Was  she  not,"  he  asked, 
"  a  large  woman  who  wore  a  purple  bonnet,  and  a 
mouse-colored  shawl  embroidered  with  silk  of  a  lighter 
shade  ?  "  "  Yes ;  "  the  man  who  knew  her  so  "  easy," 
said  it  was  she.  There  could  be  no  mistake  this  time. 
The  young  preacher  remembered  that  he  had  been 
introduced  to  her  after  service  one  day,  and  had 
formed  a  good  opinion  of  her.  She  was  always  in 
her  seat,  seemed  to  be  attentive,  modest,  and  sensi- 
ble, and  she  had  not  been  indifferent  to  the  highest 
interest  of  him  to  whom  she  was  affianced  —  knew 
that  everything  depended  upon  his  securing  this,  and 
had  shown  courage  enough  to  speak  to  him  on  this 


"GREAT     K  X  P  E  C  T  A  T  I  0  N  S ."  97 

important  subject.  Here,  then,  were  traces  of  another 
positive  character  —  of  a  good  character,  too,  and  the 
parson  took  a  note  of  what  he  had  heard,  in  his  mind. 

"Now,  my  dear  sir,"  he  said  to  his  visitor,  "1 
hope  that  when  you  are  married  you  will  continue  to 
listen  to  your  wife.  I  do  not  know  much  about  her, 
but  would  take  her  to  be  a  good  woman.  Let  me  ask 
you  whether  you  have  been  candid  with  her  ?  Does 
she  know  that  you  have  been  wild  ?  " 

"  Yaas,  sir,"  replied  the  man,  "she  know'd  a  good 
deal  and  I  told  her  all  the  rest.  Hadn't  the  heart  to 
keep  anything  from  her,  now  when  I  was  goin'  to 
marry  her.  Would  as  soon  think  of  keepin'  her  out 
of  her  meetin'.  She  would  have  married  me  long  ago 
but  for  this  wildness,  cause  she  know'd  I  hadn't  any 
spite  in  what  I  did.  That  was  one  reason,  and  then 
my  darters.  She  wouldn't  be  jined  to  me  as  long  as 
they  was  opposed  ta  it,  for  she  said  she  didn't  be- 
lieve in  a  woman's  drivin'  children  out  of  house  and 
home.  But  they're  all  knocked  under  now,  she  was 
so  gentle  like." 

"I  respect  her  all  the  more  for  that,"  the  parson 
said,  "but  you  are  certainly  old  enough  to  give  up 
some  kinds  of  fun." 

"And  I  am  goin'  to,"  he  said.  "You  see,  Mr. 
Meagre,  I  was  raised  in  this  place.  When  I  was 
young  I  had  nobody  to  take  care  of  me,  and  some- 
how or  other  I  had  a  nat'ral  disposition  to  cut  up 
Jack.  Used  to  tote  store  boxes  and  signs  out  of  their 
places  when  I  wasn't  more  nor  fifteen  years  old,  and 
9 


98  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

somehow  the  thing  did  not  leave  me,  but  grow'd  on 
me  till  I  was  over  thirty.  You  know  there  is  one  or 
two  such  fellers  in  every  neighborhood.  Sometimes 
I'd  get  on  a  spree  and  drink  a  little,  but  I  have  not 
done  much  at  that  for  twenty  years,  only  on  special 
'casions,  such  as  the  President's  election,  camp  meet- 
in',  and  such  times.  The  last  time  was  when  Strap- 
iron  got  married  ;  then  a  parcel  of  us  fellers  did  horse- 
fiddle  him,  not  that  we  had  anything  agin  him,  but  it 
did  seem  funny  to  see  him  turn  butterfly  so  soon." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear,"  remarked  the  clergyman, 
"  that  you  bear  no  ill  will  to  Mr.  Strapiron.  I  feared 
from  the  fact  that  so  much  mention  was  made  of  him 
this  morning,  that  there  had  been  more  than  a  gener- 
ous rivalry  between  you,  and  screened  him  as  much 
as  I  could,  because  he  was  absent,  and  because  he  is 
an  elder  in  my  congregation." 

"  0  no.  We  are  good  friends.  I  sat  up  with  him 
•when  he  had  the  typhoid  fever,  and  would  do  any- 
thing in  the  world  for  him.  His  wantin'  Kitty 
brought  him  up  somehow  this  morning,  and  then  I 
'spec'  they'll  serenade  me  the  tallest  kind.  But  I 
don't  care  if  they  do,  for  I  deserve  it.  Well,  ra'ly  I 
must  go.  Wish  I  could  get  out  of  here  without  any 
body's  seein'  me.  Tried  to  come  'arly  this  mornin' 
before  many  people  was  about,  but  then  I  kind  of 
know'd  you  was  in  bed.  Been  overstayin'  my  time, 
too,  but  we  got  to  talkin',  and  then  I  seed  Ike  Whinny 
down  on  the  corner  and  wanted  him  to  go  away.  You 
won't  disappint  us  now?" 


THE    REHEARSAL.  99 

"  0  no,  sir ;  come  to  see  me  again." 

"I  will :  good  mornin',  Mr.  Meagre." 

"  Good  morning,  sir,"  said  the  parson,  as  from  his 
sitting  posture  he  tried  to  bow  his  visitor  out  of  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    REHEARSAL:    A    DILEMMA. 

THE  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  having  been  thoroughly 
awakened  by  this  remarkable  interview,  got  up  when 
his  visitor  had  left,  dressed  himself,  and  looked  up  the 
form  for  marriage  with  all  the  characteristic  interest 
of  a  young  preacher  who  has  been  called  upon  to  per- 
form that  important  ceremony  for  the  first  time.  The 
service  was  of  course  a  new  one  to  him,  and  he  studied 
it  with  all  the  trepidation  of  one  who  wished  to  avoid 
mistakes.  He  was  especially  anxious  to  guard  against 
any  error  that  might  invalidate  the  holy  rite,  and  many 
question!  arose  in  his  mind  as  to  what  this  and  that 
feature  of  it  involved.  And  then,  to  guard  against 
mere  awkward  embarrassment  and  confusion:  —  this 
was  a  matter  that  depended  in  a  great  measure  upon 
the  preacher,  and  gave  the  inexperienced  brother  some 
concern.  For  even  his  old  elder,  who  had  been  united 
in  the  bonds  of  matrimony  about  as  often  as  most  men, 
perhaps,  got  out  of  practice  from  one  time  until  an- 


100  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

other.  No  one  but  an  old  Bluebeard  ever  expected 
to  be  married  oftener  than  the  time  in  hand,  and  of 
course  no  one  cares  to  preserve  his  dramatic  character 
with  a  view  to  anything  of  the  kind  in  future ;  that 
would  implicate  his  present  relations  sadly.  It  was 
therefore  probable  that,  although  the  groom  had  been 
married  before,  he  nevertheless  had  only  a  general 
idea  of  what  was  to  be  gone  through  with.  As  for 
the  bride,  she  might  have  witnessed  many  weddings, 
but  had  never  been  married  herself,  and  nothing  was 
to  be  expected  from  her  in  the  way  of  experience. 
Some  things  are  usually  committed  to  competent 
bridesmaids,  but  in  this  case  the  candidates  for  mar- 
riage would  scarcely  have  attendants,  but  do  just  as 
the  minister  would  tell  them  to  do,  and  trust  that  all 
would  be  right. 

The  little  parson  felt  the  weight  of  responsibility 
that  rested  upon  him,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  first 
anxiety  bethought  himself  of — pantomime.  The  first 
thing  to  be  settled  was  the  position  of  the  parties  on 
the  floor.  If  only  he  could  have  given  them  instruc- 
tions, all  would  have  been  well.  But  then,  even  if  he 
could  have  commanded  their  presence,  he  might  have 
tied  the  knot  in  the  process  of  practising  the  cere- 
mony, and  thus  done  away  with  the  necessity  of  prac- 
tising, as  the  end  in  view  would  have  been  accomplished 
by  acts  of  mere  anticipation. 

Practising  with  the  parties  was  then  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  looking-glass,  too,  to  which  it  is  basely  said 
preachers  sometimes  resort,  was  now  of  no  avail.  To 


THE    REHEARSAL.  101 

have  consulted  one  would  have  been  the  veriest  Irish 
bull,  as  the  candidates  for  connubial  bliss  would  have 
been  wanting.  Rev.  Petit  had  a  notion  to  call  in  Mr. 
Birney's  two  little  children  and  have  them  personate 
the  anxious  pair,  but  he  remembered  that  they  had 
gone  to  school.  He  next  looked  for  the  tongs  and 
shovel,  but  the  weather  was  warm,  and  these  had  been 
taken  out  of  the  room.  As  a  last  resort,  he  wheeled 
up  two  stuffed  chairs  —  the  big  one  would  be  "Mike" 
and  the  lesser  one  "Kitty."  He  then  commenced  to 
go  through  with  the  ceremony,  but  was  brought  to  a 
halt  in  the  midst  of  it  by  the  fact  that  "  Mike  "  was 
found  to  be  standing  upon  the  wrong  side.  This  mis- 
take was  soon  corrected.  "  Please  join  your  right 
hands."  The  minister  had  to  imagine  that  gracefully 
done,  and  then  he  saw  another  breaker  ahead.  He  did 
not  know  what  form  the  parties  preferred,  but  as  this 
was  only  practice,  he  might  ask  and  then  begin  again. 
"  Maybe  you  would  like  to  be  married  with  a  ring?" 
The  representatives  of  "Mike"  and  "Kitty "were 
dumb  —  the  proxies  could  not  speak  for  their  princi- 
pals, and  the  parson  must  go  and  see  Mike  and  Kitty 
themselves. 

And  now  the  truth  flashed  upon  his  mind,  that  dur- 
ing the  whole  conversation  of  the  morning  he  had 
neither  asked  Mike  what  his  other  name  was,  nor  where 
Kitty  lived.  "  What  a  man  has  not  in  his  head  he 
must  have  in  his  heels,"  was  a  proverb  that  came  into 
his  mind.  He  must  inform  himself  on  these  points, 
as  he  did  not  even  know  where  the  ceremony  was  to 
9* 


102  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

take  place,  and  it  would  not  do  to  put  off  these  in- 
quiries until  the  very  hour,  as  he  might  have  some 
difficulty  in  having  them  answered,  and  delay  matters 
beyond  the  appointed  time.  So  he  took  his  hat  and 
went  in  search  of  his  exhibitor  —  the  young  deacon. 
"Mr.  Green,"  he  asked  as  he  entered  the  store, 
"  can  you  tell  me  where  Miss  Catharine  Carson 
lives?" 

"  I  don't  know  her  at  all,"  he  replied. 
"  0  yes,  you  must  know  her.  She  belongs  to  our 
congregation,"  said  the  pastor,  '•  you  introduced  me 
to  her  one  day  after  service.  She  was  the  only  woman 
at  the  Wednesday  evening  lecture,  the  night  of  the 
heavy  shower." 

"  0,  Kitty  Carson,  you  mean.  They  call  her  Kit, 
and  I  did  not  know  whom  you  were  after,  first,  when 
you  called  her  Miss  Catharine." 

Mr.  Meagre  was  disposed  to  think  well  of  the  wo- 
man, and  somehow  or  other  wished  that  she  had 
another  name.  To  be  sure,  Kit  Carson  was  no  worse 
than  Sally  Flailer  or  Polly  Parkins,  but  an  adventurer 
had  given  it  a  questionable  notoriety,  and  it  grated 
on. the  clerical  ear;  in  fact,  it  impressed  him  pain- 
fully with  the  idea  that  some  one  bad  been  unsexed. 

Mr.  Green  did  not  know  where  Miss  Carson  lived : 
he  had  been  unable  to  find  out  when  he  was  showing 
the  pastor  around,  but  said  Mr.  Strapiron  could  tell ; 
"only,"  he  added,  "if  you  call  her  Kitty,  or  simply 
Kit,  he'll  understand  better  whom  you  mean." 

The  preacher  left  the  store,  hoisted  his  umbrella  over 


THE     REHEARSAL.  103 

his  head  to  keep  the  sun  off,  and  went  in  search  of  his 
elder.  He  did  not  find  him  in  his  shop ;  "  had  just 
gone  up  to  the  house,"  some  one  said,  and  thither  the 
Rev.  Petit  followed  him.  Here  he  came  upon  the 
family  at  dinner,  and  a  large  family  it  was,  with 
journeymen,  apprentices,  children  and  all. 

"Won't  you  set  up  and  take  a  bite?"  asked  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  as  she  pushed  two  or  three 
little  ones  away  from  the  table  to  clear  a  place  for 
him. 

"  You  quality  folks  don't  eat  dinner  till  most  night. 
Rec'on  our'n  is  too  early  for  you,"  said  the  elder. 

"It  is  not  quite  my  hour,  and  I  am  sorry  to  dis- 
turb you,  but  I  have  a  little  business  with  you,"  said 
the  pastor. 

"Anything  perticler  ?  " 

"  No,  sir :  I  only  wished  to  ask  about  some  of  our 
members.  With  your  permission,  I'll  just  wait  in 
your  front  room  here  until  you  have  dined,"  said  the 
parson,  withdrawing. 

In  fact,  he  was  just  going  to  inquire  for  Kitty's 
whereabouts,  when  it  occurred  to  him  that  some  im- 
pertinent questions  might  be  put  to  him,  and  that  he 
would  be  forced  either  to  prevaricate  or  betray  confi- 
dence, and  put  the  boys  on  the  scent  of  the  wedding. 
To  have  done  so  would  have  been  synonymous  with 
telling  them  to  serenade  the  couple. 

The  elder  soon  joined  his  pastor.  He  came  into 
the  parlor  picking  his  teeth  with  a  fork  that  he 


104  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

brought  with  him  from  the  table,  and  followed  by  the 
little  Strapirons,  supplied  with  bread  and  molasses.  . 

"  I  have  but  a  moment  to  stay,  sir,"  said  the 
reverend  youth.  "  I  have  not  yet  found  out  where 
all  of  our  members  live,  and  come  for  some  informa- 
tion." 

"Don't  Brother  Green  know?"  said  the  elder. 

"  There  were  some  whom  he  could  not  find  when 
he  went  around,"  replied  Mr.  Meagre. 

"Who  are  they?" 

"Why,  for  instance,  Miss  Kitty  Carson." 

To  Rev.  Perit's  surprise,  Mr.  Strapiron  was  taken 
all  aback  at  the  mention  of  the  name,  and  looked  very 
foolish.  "Mr.  Meagre,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  had 
somewhat  recovered  from  his  confusion,  "  are  you 
certain  nobody  sent  you  here  to  ax  me  just  for  a 
trick?" 

"  I  am  certain,  sir,"  replied  the  parson,  "  that  your 
friend  Deacon  Green  sent  me  here  simply,  as  I 
thought,  because  he  could  not  give  me  the  information 
I  wanted  himself.  If  there  is  any  trick  in  it,  I  am 
not  a  party  to  it." 

"Well,  then,"  said  the  elder,  "you  have  been  sent 
here  by  Providence  just  to  give  me  a  chance  to  ex- 
plain some  things  to  you.  Children,  you  go  out  — 
here,  take  this  fork  with  you.  I'll  just  shut  this 
door ;  this  is  a  matter  that  my  wife  don't  like  per- 
ticlerly  to  hear  about." 


TRIBULATIONS     OF    THE     ELDER.        105 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    TRIBULATIONS    OF    ELDER    STRAPIRON. 

HAVING  closed  the  door  securely  and  looked  around 
as  if  to  assure  himself  that  no  other  auditor  was  pres- 
ent, the  old  gentlemen  drew  a  chair  up  in  front  of 
his  pastor,  sat  down  upon  it,  put  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  looked  over  the  top  of  his  spectacles,  right 
into  the  young  incumbent's  eyes. 

"You  see,"  he  commenced,  "when  you  came  here 
just  now,  and  mentioned  Kitty's  name,  I  thought, 
mebbe,  Minister  Huguenot  had  been  telling  you  some- 
thing about  me  and  her,  and  that  it  was  intended  to 
raise  another  fuss  between  me  and  another  preacher, 
or  between  me  and  my  wife,  but  I  am  one  of  them 
that  believes 'that  whatever  is  to  be,  is,  and  now  I 
know  Providence  sent  you  to  me." 

"Mr.  Grreen  sent  me,"  interrupted  the  parson,  un- 
willing to  hear  the  old  man's  jrarn,  and  yet  perfectly 
satisfied  that  it  would  be  rich. 

"  But  then  you  know,  Brother  Meagre,  that  Provi- 
dence uses  us  instrumentally  like  sun  and  rain  ;  and 
no  doubt  Brother  Green  was  the  means  of  bringing 
you  here  just  in  order  that  you  might  learn  the  truth, 
and  the  truth  you  shall  know.  You  see  when  my  last 
wife  died  I  was  bad  off,  on  account  of  my  motherless 


106  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

children.  True,  as  Mr.  Huguenot  said,  Granny  was 
here  to  do  everything  for  them  that  was  needed,  and 
my  darter  was  grown  up,  hut  then  they  had  no  one  to 
call  mother.  That  distressed  me.  I  did  not  care  for 
inclination,  hut  only  sought  to  know  my  duty.  I  sarched 
the  Scriptures,  and  there  I  was  told  marriage  is  honor- 
able; so  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  supply  my  wife's 
place,  and  then  I  sought  out  from  Providence  who  I 
should  take  for  a  mother  for  my  hahes,  and  he  pinted 
right  to  Kitty.  She'd  come  to  me  in  visions  of  the. 
night.  Well,  I  goes  to  her  and  axes  her,  and  she 
wouldn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  me.  I  even  got  down 
on  my  knees  to  her  and  wept  like  a  child,  Mr.  Meagre, 
and  threatened  to  drown  myself — you  know  Providence 
directs  us  to  do  some  very  desperate  things,  and" 

"No  He  don't,"  exclaimed  the  clergyman,  impatiently. 

"  Well,  justhear  me  out,  Mr.  Meagre,  and  then  judge." 

Mr.  Meagre  did  so :  half  worried  and  half  amused,  he 
resigned  himself  to  hear  the  case,  and  only  hoping  that 
he  would  not  be  called  upon  to  give  a  formal  verdict, 
which  he  knew  would  he  equivalent  to  giving  offence. 

"As  I  was  saying,"  continued  the  witness,  "Kitty 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  my  supplication.  She  said  I  was 
crazy,  and  that,  Mr.  Meagre,  was  no  way  to  rebuke 
an  elder.  And  then  Tom  Hickman  sarved  me  a  curus 
trick.  He  come  out  from  under  a  settee,  and  said  I 
ought  to  go  in  a  swimmin',  as  if  cold  water  would  squench 
the  best  feelings  of  the  human  heart.  Well,  this  was 
all  of  a  Saturday  night.  On  Sunday  night  followin', 
I  got  out  of  meetin'  before  most  anybody  else.  I  axed 


TRIBULATIONS    OF    THE    ELDER.       107 

her  if  I  moutent  go  home  with  her,  and  she  said  'No,' 
and  the  next  thing  I  know'd  she  was  going  away  locked 
arras  with  Mike  Stoner ;  and  that  was  what  I  called 
being  unequally  yoked  with  unbelievers,  for  Mike  is 
an  unbeliever,  leastways  he  aint  no  member  of  the 
church,  and  got  fined  once  for  shooting  out  old  year 
with  a  horse  pistol. 

"  Well,  when  I  saw  that  Kitty  was  a  throwin'  her- 
self away.  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  try  and  reclaim 
her,  and  I  went  to  my  pastor  as  one  of  his  spiritual 
advisers,  and  asked  him  to  interpose  with  his  authority. 
I  pinted  out  passages  of  Scriptur',  showing  him  the 
error  of  Kitty's  ways,  and  in  spite  of  this  he  turned 
around  and  gave  me  such  a  lecture  as  nobody  ever 
heard.  You  know  Minister  Huguenot  could  do  that. 
He  was  a  good  man,  Minister  Huguenot  was,  but  rather 
plain-spoken  like,  and  it  wasn't  very  pleasant  when  he 
opened  on  a  feller. 

"But  all  this  did  not  dampen  my  zeal  in  the  good 
cause  of  Kitty's  welfare.  I  got  a  nice  red  sheet  of 
paper  and  writ  her  a  letter,  telling  her  just  who  Mike 
Stoner  was,  and  how  members  of  the  church  ought  to 
love  one  another,  and  saying  that  I'd  send  the  two  least 
children  up  the  country  with  Granny,  and  bind  the 
boys  out,  and  let  my  daughter  Betsy  git  married,  and 
wouldn't  let  the  rest  call  her  mother  if  she  didn't  like 
it,  if  she  would  only  take  back  what  she  said.  And 
then  I  puts  the  letter  in  a  kiver,  nice  as  that  one  round 
that  valentine  on  the  table  there — it  cost  me  a  shillin', 
and  I  put  it  in  my  hat  to  give  it  to  Mr.  Huguenot,  and 


108  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

asked  him  to  give  it  to  Kitty.  I  know'd  she  didn't 
come  to  the  post-office  much,  and  so  it  might  a  laid 
there  a  week,  and  that  if  I  sent  the  children  with  it 
she  would  not  take  it,  and  so  I  thought  I  would  secure 
my  pastor's  services. 

"  Well,  I  met  Mr.  Huguenot,  and  asked  him  to  take 
the  letter  to  Kitty  for  me,  and  he  said  he  wouldn't  do 
no  such  thing ;  I  was  making  a  goose  out  of  myself, 
and  if  I  didn't  stop  my  foolishness  he'd  blow  me  out 
of  water,  and  that  meant  he'd  suspend  me  out  of 
meetin'.  Now,  mind  you,  all  this  was  before  I  had 
directed  the  letter.  Fact  was,  I  couldn't  write  well, 
and  was  a  going  to  git  old  Mr.  Hearty,  the  commission 
merchant,  to  direct  it  for  me.  And  when  my  own 
minister  turned  his  back  on  me,  I  thought  I  would 
get  Hearty's  boy  to  take  it  up  for  me,  too ;  but  when 
I  got  to  his  store  and  took  off  my  hat,  I  found  the 
letter  was  gone.  Yes,  Mr.  Meagre,  I  lost  that  letter, 
and  what  was  worse,  Mike  Stoner  found  it.  You 
may  laugh,  as  if  you  don't  believe  it,  or  not,  but  it's 
just  as  I  tell  you. 

"  Mike  said  as  there  was  no  directions  on  the  letter, 
and  as  it  wasn't  sealed,  he  read  it  to  find  out  whose  it 
was,  and  then  took  it  to  Kitty,  and  axed  her  to  let 
him  publish  it  in  the  Gainfield  Gazette,  with  all  in 
about  him,  if  only  my  name  was  left  to  it.  But  Kitty 
took  it  to  Minister  Huguenot,  and  said  she  was  pestered 
almost  to  death.  And  then  you  ought  to  a  heard 
him.  He  said  I  was  always  twisting  Providence  into 
my  conceit,  and  that  I  wasn't  influenced  by  con- 


TRIBULATIONS     OF     THE     ELDER.        139 

sideration  for  my  children,  and  that  I  pretended  to 
be  Mike's  friend.  I  denied  at  first  that  I  said  any- 
thing agin  Mike,  for  I  had  forgot  it,  I  was  in  so  much 
trouble,  and  said  that  I  would  face  Mr.  Stoner.  So 
he  sent  him  down  with  the  letter,  and  advised  him 
not  to  kick  me,  though  he  said  he  could  not  hurt  him 
for  it  if  he  did,  for  he  was  not  a  church  member ;  but 
he  told  him  that  if  he  would  go  home  with  Kitty  every 
night,  it  would  be  purgatory  for  me.  I  believe  the 
preacher  would  have  helped  Stoner  if  he  hadn't  been 
opposed  to  interfering  one  way  or  other.  He  liked 
him  because  he  was  a  kind  of  open-hearted  feller,  that 
wouldn't  hide  his  worst  acts  from  even  a  parson. 
But  Kitty  will  never  marry  Mike  until  h&  promises 
to  jine  the  meetin'.  He's  been  trying  about  her  for 
these  ten  years,  and  I  think  she  is  doing  him  good. 
He  don't  cuss  any  more,  and  hasent  been  on  a  spree 
since  —  well,  for  a  long  time,  and  its  hard  to  make 
him  mad.  Even  that  time  he  fotch  the  letter  to  me, 
he  only  just  laughed  at  me,  and  jumped  up  and 
cracked  his  heels  together,  and  crow'd  like  a  rooster. 

"  Now,  as  I  said  before,  these  things  is  just  as  I  tell 
you.  I  thought  I  would  just  set  you  right,  in  case 
anybody  should  want  to  misrepresent  things.  Did 
Minister  Huguenot  tell  you  anything  about  it  ?  " 

u  Not  much,"  said  the  young  parson.  "  Not  half 
as  much  as  you  have  told  me,  and  he  did  not  make  it 
half  as  bad  as  you  do.  I  think,  perhaps,  that  your 
representation  is  a  truthful  one." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  old  Brother  Huguenot  treated 
10 


110  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

me  quite  right.  My  wife  couldn't  bear  him,  and  in- 
deed I  had  a  notion  to  join  the  New  Schools,  but  I 
know'd  that  all  the  women  would  be  down  on  me,  and 
so  I  was  determined  to  maintain  my  attachment  to 
the  Church  of  my  fathers,  just  for  the  sake  of  princi- 
ple. As  for  Kitty  Carson,  I  always  did  say  she  was 
a  fine  woman,  though  my  wife  wont  hear  to  it." 

"  I  have  just  been  thinking,  Mr.  Strapiron,"  said 
the  little  successor  of  Mr.  Huguenot,  "  that  you  are 
married  now,  and  that  there  is  no  use  to/evive  your 
affair  with  Kitty.  I  did  not  ask  you  to  make  a  father 
confessor  of  me." 

"Yes,  Providence  led  me  to  my  present  wife,"  said 
the  elder/ 

"I  thought,"  retorted  the  clergyman,  "that  Prov- 
idence was  leading  you  the  other  way.  But  I  hope 
you  are  satisfied  with  your  present  arrangements." 

"  Yes,  for  if  a  man  aint  satisfied  with  his  wife,  it's 
bad  enough." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Strapiron  entered  the  room,  fol- 
lowed by  three  or  four  pledges  of  love.  It  is  hard  to 
say  what  disposition  they  had  made  of  their  bread,  but 
the  molasses  seemed  to  have  been  transferred  to  their 
faces  and  clothes.  The  good  lady's  liege  lord  gave 
Mr.  Meagre  a  sort  of  wink  to  drop  the  subject  upon 
which  they  had  been  talking,  but  Mrs.  Strapiron  had 
heard  the  last  sentence  of  the  conversation,  and  asked, 
"  Who  aint  satisfied  with  his  wife  ?  Anybody  in  our 
church  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  her  husband  meekly ;  "  me  and  our  pas- 


TRIBULATIONS    OF    THE    ELDER.       Ill 

tor  was  just  saying  it  was  bad  enough  when  a  man 
wasn't.     Had  no  reference  to  any  allusions." 

The  youthful  shepherd  arose  to  leave.  Mr.  Strap- 
iron  followed  him  to  the  door  and  whispered,  "Kitty 
lives  with  Tom  Hickman,  her  brother-in-law,  next  door 
above  old  Mr.  Huggermugger's.  She's  a  fine  woman." 

During  the  long  rigmarole  that  Mr.  Meagre  had 
heard,  he  did  his  best  to  preserve  his  gravity,  and 
only  had  it  upset  two  or  three  times ;  but  now  being 
clear  from  the  house,  he  almost  laughed  aloud.  Miss 
Ella  Tudor  and  her  sister  Blanche  met  him  going  down 
town,  and  afterwards  asked  him  what  made  him  wear 
such  a  broad  grin  that  morning.  But  he  could  give 
them  no  satisfaction  without  betraying  State  secrets, 
and  had  to  put  them  off  by  saying,  "  I  have  often  lis- 
tened to  the  gossip  of  old  women,  but  never  before 
spent  a  half-day  in  listening  to  the  gossip  of  old  men." 

The  young  divine  had  of  course  gleaned  from  his 
elder's  conversation,  that  the  surname  of  the  gentle- 
man who  visited  him  that  morning  was  Stoner.  He 
also  found  out — although  he  had  well  nigh  come  away 
without  finding  out — where  Miss  Carson  lived,  and  he 
lost  no  time  in  repairing  to  Mr.  Hickman's. 

"Yc-s,"  he  was  told,  "Kit's  at  home."  In  the 
course  of  his  conversation  with  her,  Mr.  Meagre  told 
her  that  Mr.  Stoner  had  called  upon  him  that  morn- 
ing. Having  ascertained  that  she  preferred  to  be 
married  without  the  ring,  he  went  back  to  his  room 
and  found  the  chairs  as  he  had  left  them  —  as  near 
together  as  Mike  and  Kitty  were  to  stand  the  next  day 


112  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

to  have  the  marriage  ceremony  performed.  This  re- 
minded him  again  of  the  service,  and  he  studied  it 
until  he  thought  he  could  render  it  to  the  satisfaction 
of  all  concerned. 

At  a  quarter  before  three  the  next  day  he  tapped 
again  at  Tom  Hickman's  door,  and  found  the  parties 
ready  to  proceed  to  business.  The  ceremony  took  but 
little  time,  and  no  egregious  blunders  were  committed, 
although  Rev.  Petit  spoke  hurriedly  ano*  showed  more 
trepidation  than  any  one  on  the  floor.  Mike  seemed 
to  be  very  glad  that  he  was  alive,  and  responded  firmly 
and  loudly  to  the  usual  questions.  Tom  Hickman  stood 
behind  Kitty,  and  snatched  a  kiss  from  her  before  her 
husband  had  time  to  release  her  hand,  a  feat  which 
the  enraptured  brother-in-law  pronounced  a  success, 
by  smacking  his  lips  and  jumping  up  and  striking  his 
heels  together,  perhaps  as  much  as  Mike  had  done 
when  he  gave  the  letter  to  his  infatuated  rival. 

For  this  "little  job,"  as  it  was  called,  Mike  de- 
posited in  Mr.  Meagre's  hand  two  dollars  and  a  half, 
in  one  piece  of  gold. 

In  a  little  time  a  horse  and  buggy  were  brought  to 
the  door,  and  the  newly  married  pair  u  put  on  their 
things"  and  so  got  ready  to  start  on  the  contemplated 
"  voyage."  Tom  brought  out  a  chair  to  help  the  bride 
into  the  vehicle,  and  seemed  strongly  tempted  to  repeat 
the  strategy  he  had  gone  through  with  in  the  house. 
The  groom  repudiating  the  chair,  put  his  foot  on  the 
hub  of  the  front  wheel,  and  with  a  remarkable  display 
of  agility  seated  himself  by  a  single  spring  at  the  side 


MUSICAL    AND    STRATEGICAL.          113 

of  his  new  wife.  As  he  did  so,  he  said  to  the  parson, 
"  Mr.  Meagre,  you  needn't  keep  the  weddin'  a  secret 
if  you  don't  want  to.  Let  'em  come  on  with  their  corn- 
cobs and  cart-wheels.  I  can  manage  "em." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MUSICAL    AND    STRATEGICAL. 

ABOUT  twelve  o'clock  on  the  night  which  followed 
the  espousals  of  Mr.  Stoner,  the  denizens,  of  that 
part  of  Gainfield  called  Turnip  Hill,  and,  indeed,  the 
inhabitants  of  all  the  town,  heard  loud  and  horrid 
noises,  announcing  to  the  initiated  that  there  had 
been  a  wedding  in  lower- tendom.  Sure  enough,  tin 
horns  and  frying-pans,  dinner-bells,  sleigh-bells,  cow- 
bells, every  conceivable  kind  of  bell,  from  the  tintinnab- 
ulum  to  a  large  factory  bell  which  had  been  swung 
on  a  frame,  and  wheeled  up  with  much  difficulty  for 
the  occasion  —  a  greater  variety  of  instruments  than 
sounded  on  the  plains  of  Dura,  when  the  Chaldean 
monarch  commanded  the  golden  image  to  be  wor- 
shipped, gave  out  their  grating  discords.  Far  above 
everything  else,  like  thunder  above  the  din  and  con- 
fusion of  drays  and  carts  in  a  city,  arose  the  coarse 
notes  of  the  veritable  horse-fiddle.  All  the  elements 
seemed  to  be  mingled  in  wild  strife,  and  this  was  the 
10* 


114  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

bass  of  the  vast  anthem.  Only  one  sound  seemed  to 
be  wanting  —  the  squeal  of  a  pig,  a  deficiency  attribu- 
table, perhaps,  to  the  fact  that  the  performer  on  that 
instrument  had  another  engagement.  In  lieu  of  this, 
however,  some  one  had  gone  out  to  Joe  Wallach's 
and  brought  in  a  pack  of  hounds,  which  sagacious 
animals  instinctively  responded  to  the  horns  and 
helped  to  make  confusion  worse  confounded ;  and  Tom 
Hickman,  it  was  said,  borrowed  a  calf  from  a  young 
butcher,  and  laid  it  under  contribution  before  it  was 
yielded  to  the  shambles. 

Mr.  Meagre  had  not  yet  retired  when  the  band 
struck  up.  He  could  hardly  resist  the  temptation  to 
go  down  and  witness  the  commotion,  but  feared  that 
his  reputation  would  not  bear  it.  Had  his  character 
been  as  well  established  as  that  of  some  of  his  pro- 
fessional brethren,  he  perhaps  would  have  gone,  but 
he  recently  had  "  shown  the  white  feather,"  as  Mr. 
John  Flailer  said,  by  playing  ball,  and  it  might  now 
be  supposed  that  he  was  an  open  and  strenuous  advo- 
cate of  calathumpian  bands.  He  had  to  content  him- 
self, therefore,  with  walking  a  square  or  two  in  the 
direction  from  which  the  sounds  proceeded,  and  ask- 
ing a  watchman,  innocently,  what  it  all  meant. 

"  They  are  ox-banding  Mike  Stoner,"  said  the  man 
of  the  star  —  he  had  no  rattle,  and  the  parson  had 
strong  suspicions  that  the  guardian  of  the  peace  had 
lent  it  away.  "  He  was  married  to-day.  Don't  be 
skeer  d,  sir.  Won't  be  anybody  hurt.  It  ain't  no 
•  riot." 


N 

MUSICAL    AND,    STRATEGICAL.          115 

"  But,  captain,"  said  the  unsophisticated  preacher, 
"it  is  an  indignity  to  Mr.  Stoner.  Ought  not  you  to 
stop  it  ?  It'  you  want  a  posse,  I  " 

"0  no,"  he  replied  quickly,  "  they's  animals 
enough  without  that.  Possums  would'nt  be  good  for 
much  at  a  serenade,  'cept  you'd  hold  'em  on  a  pole 
above  the  dogs,  and  they're  in  full  blast  anyhow. 
Hear  'em  ?" 

Rev.  Petit  wilted.  He  now  felt  how  liable  the  best 
words  and  acts  of  a  minister  were  to  misapprehension 
and  misconstruction  by  the  ignorant.  Here  he  offered, 
though  he  knew  the  offer  would  be  declined,  to  help 
to  quell  the  disturbance,  and  this  municipal  officer 
knew  so  little  law  Latin,  that  he  understood  him  as 
wishing  him  to  furnish  an  opossum  to  make  things 
worse.  But  then  it  occurred  to  his  reverence  that  he 
was  perhaps  "playing  possum"  himself,  and  that  as, 
according  to  his  own  construction,  he  had  offered  him- 
self, the  watchman  was  not  very  wide  of  the  mark, 
however  unwittingly  the  bow  had  been  drawn.  He 
therefore  resolved  to  go  home,  willing  to  compromise 
with  the  man  of  the  baton,  and  determined  to  say 
nothing  about  the  matter  even  to  Dr.  Kay.  As  he 
turned  on  his  heel  to  depart,  he  remarked  that  he 
hoped  Mr.  Stoner  would  not  be  annoyed  too  much. 

'•Don't  be  alarmed,"  was  the  reply.  „  "Bet  my 
watch  agin  a  turnip,  that  Mike's  in  his  house  there, 
enjoying  the  fun  more  nor  anybody  else." 

The  next  afternoon  the  parson  met  his  patron  on 


116  THE    YOUNG     PAESON. 

the  street.  "Good  morning,  Mr.  Stoner,"  he  said, 
"  How  is  your  wife  ?  " 

"  First  rate,  I'm  obliged  to  you,"  answered  the 
newly  married  man. 

"Well,  they  did  serenade  you  last  night,"  said  the 
preacher. 

Mike  gave  Rev.  Petit  a  familiar  though  respectful 
wink,  and  replied  in  a  low  tone  of  voice,  "  They 
thought  they  did,  Mr.  Meagre,  but  I  outginerall'd  the 
whole  party.  Sold  'em  bad.  But  you  mussent  say 
anything  about  it  just  now,  or  they'll  pay  me  back 
yit." 

There  is  no  use  to  deny  it ;  Mr.  Meagre  yielded  to 
the  weakness  that  always  was  his  besetting  sin.  He 
could  not  help  but  ask  Mike  how  he  had  managed  his 
forces,  arid  Mike  was  too  glad  to  have  some  one  to 
whom  he  could  safely  tell  the  fun,  to  withhold  the  in- 
formation long. 

'•Well,"  he  said,  evidently  speaking  confidentially, 
"  I'll  tell  you  how  I  fixed  'em.  I  changed  my  whole 
plan  after  I  left  you  yesterday  morning.  I  know'd 
they'd  find  me  out,  for  Ike  Whinny  see'd  me  go  into 
your  room,  and  smelt  the  rat  directly,  and  I  was  sar- 
tain  they  wouldn't  leave  my  trail  a  minnit.  Then  my 
whole  arrangement  was  altered  all  of  a  suddint,  and 
I  wanted  'em  to  find  the  weddin'  out,  only  I  kept  a 
lettin'  on  tother  way. 

"  Well,  after  we  was  married  and  got  out  of  town, 
I  ses  to  Kitty :  'Kitty,  we'll  have  to  come  back  sooner 
than  we  thought  to.  but  you  shan't  suffer  no  aim  'V, nice 


MUSICAL     AND     STRATEGICAL.  117 

from  them  fellers,  because  of  my  'sociations  and  sins. 
Only  just  let  me  manage  it.  Me  and  Tom  'ill  be  too 
many  for  'em.  It's  all  planned.' 

'•  We  got  back  to  town  about  dusk,  and  I  let  Kitty 
out  at  Hickman's  where  we  started  from,  and  I  took 
the  horse  home  down  the  alleys,  as  if  I  wanted  to  be 
sneakin,'  'cause  I  know'd  they  was  lookin'  for  me,  and 
would  think  I  wanted  to  escape.  I  saw  some  of  'em 
peepin'  round  the  corner  when  I  let  Kitty  out  at 
Tom's,  and  then  they  went  away  satisfied ;  and  when 
I  come  to  the  Liberty  stable,  Sam  Crimp  come  out 
of  the  grannery,  and  said,  *  Mike,  I  wish  you  much 
joy.'  Then  I  knowed  what  to  expect. 

"  '  Sam,'  ses  I,  a  kind  of  innocent  like,  '  I  knock 
under.  I  promised  Kitty  I  wouldn't  drink  any  more, 
and  I  wont ;  but  I'll  stand  treat  to  the  whole  party  if 
you  lot  me  off.' 

'"No  sir-e-e,'  said  Sam,  '  not  for  all  the  rifle  whisky 
in  Gainfield.' 

"  Well,  I  goes  back  to  Hickman's,  and  takes  Kitty 
out  the  back  gateway,  around  by  the  Hicksite  meetin'- 
house,  down  to  my  house  in  Kemp  street,  and  tells 
her  to  keep  the  front  windows  dark.  Then  I  goes 
back,  and  about  ten  o'clock  takes  a  candle  up  stairs, 
shuts  the  shutters  myself,  and  blows  the  light  out. 
After  that  I  slips  down,  wont  home  the  back  way 
again,  and  waits  for  the  fun.  This  was  just  before 
Tom  went  to  tell  the  boys  all  was  ready ;  for  if  he 
hadn't  been  with  'em  they'd  a  spected  somethjn',  and 
so  we  had  made,  out  that  he  was  to  jine  in  with  'era. 


118  THE    YOUNG    PAESON. 

"About  midnight  they  commenced.  I  histed  the 
winder  and  listened.  It  was  so  good  that  I  couldn't 
stand  it.  So  I  put  some  old  clothes  on,  and  went  up 
to  see  who  they  was,  and  what  they  was  doing.  The 
first  one  I  saw  was  Jake  Strapiron  with  the  identical 
old  clothes  on  that  his  daddy  wore  before  his  wife 
died  —  striped  pants,  nankeen  wammus,  bell-crowned 
hat  and  all.  I  was  certain  at  first,  that  it  was  old 
Absalom  himself.  The  way  I  know'd  it  wasn't  was, 
he  hadn't  the  hymn-book. 

"  Well,  they  was  weak  of  hands  at  the  fiddle,  and  I 
jined  in  and  helped  'em.  '  Give  it  to  'em,  fellers,' 
says  I,  as  I  pulled  the  scantlin'. 

"'Yes,'  says  Jake ;  'I  want  to  pay  Mike  Stoner 
for  what  he  give  the  old  man.'  " 

"  Did  they  not  know  you  ?  "  asked  the  parson,  nearly 
convulsed  with  la,ughter. 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Mike,  "  I  changed  my  voice,  but 
once  I  was  mo.-t  betrayed  —  when  Tom  came  up  with 
that  calf,  pus  din'  it  by  the  ear  and  tail  to  get  it  near 
enough.  You  see  that  was  a  new  wrinkle  to  me,  and 
Tom  didn't  'spec'  to  see  me,  but  we  soon  give  one  an- 
other the  wink.  All  the  rest  thought  they  was  givin' 
it  to  me  and  Kitty,  but  they  was  ox-bandin'  the  empty 
house,  and  I  was  helpin'  'em.  But  don't  say  any- 
thing about  it,  Mr.  Meagre,  just  yet,  if  you  don't  want 
all  the  people  of  Kemp  street  to  lose  another  night's 
rest." 

"Why,"  asked  the  preacher,  "is  there  any  danger 
that  they  will  repeat'the  serenade?" 


MUSICAL    AND    STRATEGICAL.    '      119 

"  If  they  find  out  that  they  have  been  sold,  they 
will,  but  I  don't  think  they  will  find  it  out,  unless  Tom 
wants  some  more  fun.  He  is  apt  to  joke  both  ways. 
Howsomever,  he  went  up  to  Newport  to  tend  the  brick- 
layers this  afternoon,  and  won't  be  home  for  a  week." 

"Then  I  should  judge  you  safe,"  quoth  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Not  if  the  idee  strikes  Tom,"  said  Mike ;  "  for 
he'll  turn  back,  and  then  go  up  agin  to-morrow  morn- 
in'.  Don't  think  there's  much  danger  though.  Tom 
has  great  respect  for  Kitty,  or  else  he  wouldn't  a 
helped  to  spare  me  last  night.  And  then  he  wants 
to  run  the  boys.  Me  and  Tom  will  plague  'em 
enough,  if  they  say  anything  to  us  about  it.  I  'spec', 
Mr.  Meagre,  it  was  wrong  for  me  to  deceive  'em,  and 
'specially  to  jine  in,  but  that's  my  last  fun  at  a  sere- 
nade." 

"  I  hope  so,  Mr.  Stoner,"  said  the  parson.  "You 
remember  your  promise  to  your  wife." 

"  Yes,  and  if  I  don't  keep  it  I  hope  I  may  never 
taste  another  piece  of  tobacco.  I  promise  you  both 
that  I  will  try  to  do  better,"  said  Mike;  and  he  kept 
his  word. 

Now,  when  Mrs.  Strapiron  heard  of  the  wedding, 
she  declared  that  "  Kit  Carsoli   only  married  Mike " 
Stoner  because  she  could  not  get  a  certain  elder,  after 
whom  she  was  perfectly  crazy,  and  that  if  Mike  hadn't 
been  stupid,  he'd  a  know'd  it." 

The  elder  himself  was  on  his  way  to  the  country  next 
morning,  when  he  heard  that  the  serenade  the  night 
before  had  been  given  in  honor  of  his  friend.  He  re- 


120  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

marked :  "  Hadn't  heard  it  before.  Jake  and  the 
other  boys  didn't  know  what  the  noise  was  about  this 
mornin'  at  breakfast.  My  wife  said  she'd  go  out  and 
see  if  the  neighbors  know'd,  but  I  couldn't  stop  to 
hear  the  news.  Mike  Stoner  and  Kitty  Carson  !  well 
I  declare.  Providence  is  strange." 

That  day  the  elder  cut  his  foot  with  an  adze,  and 
his  amiable  spouse  avowed  that  the  accident  was  a 
judgment  upon  the  husband  for  complicity  with  the 
preacher  in  keeping  the  knowledge  of  the  intended 
marriage  from  her.  The  poor  man  defended  himself 
against  the  charge  by  saying  that  the  parson  had 
maliciously  deceived  him,  and  in  order  to  prove  to  his 
wife  that  he  was  an  injured  man,  he  publicly  threat- 
ened to  leave  the  church.  But  to  this,  Mrs.  Strapiron 
replied  :  "  You  can't  deceive  me  that  way.  Me  and 
you  has  both  talked  that  way  to  skeer  the  preachers. 
I  heard  enough  to  convince  my  own  ears,  that  the 
preacher  did  tell  you  about  the  wedding.  You  were 
a  talkin'  about  people's  being  dissatisfied  with  their 
wives  after  they  was  married,  and  if  that  don't  apply 
to  Mike  Stoner  I  don't  know  who  it  does  apply  to. 
And  then  you  went  out  and  whispered  something  to 
Meagre,  and  wouldn't  let  me  know  what  it  was,  though 
I  pestered  you  for  an  hour." 

Mr.  Strapiron,  in  his  efforts  to  convince  his  dear 
partner  that  he  was  a  victim  of  circumstances,  or 
rather  of  "  the  minister's  hypocrisy  in  pretending  that 
nothing  was  going  on,"  succeeded  in  convincing  him- 
self that  he  had  suffered  martyrdom  at  the  hands  of 


MUSICAL    AND    STRATEGICAL.          121 

his  pastor.  In  proof  of  his  conclusions,  he  quoted 
from  Ezekiel  and  other  parts  of  the  Bible,  and  was 
more  fully  settled  than  ever  in  the  opinion  that  the 
Scriptures  were  true,  by  the  fact  that  he  saw  them  so 
palpably  fulfilled.  His  threat  to  tear  himself  from 
the  church,  and  bear  testimony  against  a  wolf  in  sheep's 
clothing,  in  that  particular  way,  was  never  carried  into 
effect,  however,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  parson  did 
not  become  frightened,  and,  indeed,  took  no  notice  of 
it,  and  thus  allowed  the  excitement  to  die  out. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stoner,  whose  lawful  union  created 
such  a  sensation  among  the  boys,  and  had  well  nigh 
unsettled  some  of  the  members  of  the  church,  like  all 
married  people  at  the  end  of  a  novel,  ceased  to  be 
talked  about,  except  that  they  were,  perhaps,  referred 
to  in  an  occasional  curtain  lecture.  As  said  before, 
Mike  kept  the  promise  he  gave  to  his  wife  and  to  her 
pastor.  He  attended  church  regularly,  and  in  the 
course  of  time  became  a  regular  communicant,  and  a 
very  consistent  Christian.  He  afterwards  set  his  heart 
on  getting  his  friend  Hickman  into  the  church,  de- 
claring that  "  Tom  would  make  a  first  rate  deacon,  if 
he'd  settle  down  a  few  years  and  get  the  confidence 
of  the  people.  It  wouldn't  do  to  put  him  in  right  at 
first,  for  if  he'd  happen  to  spill  the  cents  takin'  up 
collections,  everybody  would  say  he  did  it  on  purpose." 

In  this  way  of  exerting  good  influence  upon  his 
friend,  Mr.  Stoner  was,  of  course,  encouraged  by  the 
parson,  who  thought  that  if  he  succeeded,  he,  as  well 
as  Kitty,  would  be  entitled  to  canonization. 
11 


122  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MEAQRE'S    DISCIPLE. 

"I  think,  Mr.  Middleton,"  said  the  young  parson 
one  November  morning,  as  he  entered  the  drawing- 
room,  "  that  if  you  can  let  me  have  the  old  horse,  I 
will  go  to  the  country  to-day  and  see  some  of  our 
members." 

"  I  have  arranged  to  put  the  horse  at  your  disposal 
for  a  week,"  said  Mr.  Middleton.  "  I  think,  too, 
that  you  had  better  do  some  of  your  pastoral  visiting 
without  delay:  winter  is  coming  on,  the  weather  will 
soon  be  cold  and  the  roads  bad." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  "it  is  rather  cool  this 
morning,  although  the  sun  shines  so  brightly ;  I  fear 
that  you  will  experience  rough  winds  before  night. 
But  I  have  made  you  a  pair  of  nice  leggins,  and 
bought  you  a  pair  of  buckskin  gauntlets,  and  I  hope 
you  will  not  suffer  much  if,  in  addition  to  these,  you 
wear  your  overcoat  and  cap.  That  shiny  hat  looks 
very  pretty,  but  you  may  have  some  difficulty  in 
keeping  it  on  your  head.  I  will  hurry  up  the  break- 
fast and  give  you  an  early  start,  so  that  you  can  get 
home  before  night.  Mr.  Meagre,  do  not  stay  too 
late,  or  I  will  be  uneasy  about  you.  Sooner  come 
back  and  go  again  in  the  morning." 


ME  AGUE'S   DISCIPLE.  123 

Mr.  Meagre  thanked  Mrs.  Middleton  for  her  kind 
consideration  in  providing  the  leggins  and  the  gloves. 
"You  are  always  doing  such  things  for  me,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  am  humbled  by  the  thought  that  your  generos- 
ity is  so  largely  taxed  on  my  behalf,  but  I  trust  that 
God  will  reward  you  for  it.  I  hope,  however,  you  will 
not  give  yourself  undue  anxiety  about  my  comfort  or 
safety.  I  am  not  to  ride  the  colt  to-day,  and  expect 
to  have  my  feet  on  the  fender  at  dusk  this  evening." 

"  I  hope  that  if  ever  you  do  ride  the  colt  again,  he 
will  return  you  in  better  condition  than  formerly," 
said  the  good  lady.  "  But  Dr.  Arlington  says  you 
have  improved  wonderfully  in  your  horsemanship : 
you  know  he  rode  with  you  the  last  time  you  were 
here." 

"  I  thank  the  Doctor  for  his  compliment,"  said  the 
little  parson,  "and  will  try  to  sustain  my  reputation." 

After  a  good  hot  breakfast  Rev.  Petit  mounted  the 
gentle  old  horse,  and  proceeded  to  hunt  up  the  mem- 
bers of  his  flock  among  the  hills  and  pines  .around 
Pumbeditha.  The  day  was  spent  in  going  from  house 
to  house,  talking,  reading,  and  praying  with  the  peo- 
ple. Nothing  unusual  occurred  in  the  earlier  part  of 
the  day.  Towards  evening,  however,  when  on  his 
way  home,  it  occurred  to  the  young  preacher  that  he 
would  yet  visit  the  only  remaining  family  living  in 
that  direction  from  Pumbeditha,  and  save  himself  a 
ride  back  into  that  neighborhood  the  next  morning. 
This  was  the  house  at  which  the  little  dog  had  dis- 
turbed the  young  parson's  prayers.  This  time,  how- 


124  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

ever,  the  mistress  of  the  house  took  the  precaution  to 
pen  Pinkey  up  in  the  stair  steps,  and  having  thus  re- 
lieved her  pastor  of  some  apprehensions,  sat  down  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  chimney  to  hear  what  he  had 
to  say.  As  she  did  this,  she  took  from  the  mantle  a 
short-stemmed  pipe  that  had  evidently  been  in  use  for 
some  time,  cut-  some  tobacco  fine  with  a  Barlow  knife, 
rubbed  it  finer  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  and  having 
stuffed  it  into  the  bowl  with  her  little  finger,  raked  up 
a  coal,  put  her  elbows  on  her  knees  and  puffed  away 
slowly  and  majestically. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Stemple  this  evening?"  asked  the 
parson,  after  they  had  been  talking  some  time.  "  I 
saw  him  in  church  the  last  time  I  held  service  in 
Pumbeditha,  and  would  like  to  encourage  him  to  come 
again." 

Mrs.  Stemple  was  evidently  embarrassed  by  his 
question,  and  hesitated  about  answering  it.  She 
thus  excited  a  fear  in  the  young  preacher's  mind  that 
something  was  wrong,  as  her  husband,  like  many  men 
of  his  age  in  that  community,  had  once  been  a  fre- 
quenter of  taverns,  and  it  was  said  that  the  habits  of 
his  earlier  years  had  not  been  altogether  abandoned 
in  the  later  part  of  his  life. 

•  "  Mrs.  Stemple,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  "  you  have  often 
expressed  anxiety  to  me  about  your  husband.  I  am 
anxious  to  do  him  good,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  can- 
did with  me  as  far  as  you  can  be.  Has  Mr.  Stemple 
gone  on  a  frolic  ?" 

"No  indeed,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  the  woman,  "and 


MEAGRE'S   DISCIPLE.  125 

I  hope  he  never  will  do  so  again.  If  only  you  keep 
on  noticing  him  I  think  he  will  come  to  church  regu- 
lar, and  mebbe  jine  the  meetin'  one  of  these  days.  To 
tell  the  honest  truth,  he's  gone  down  to  old  Cain  Mon- 
grel's below  here.  The  old  man's  crazy  from  drink- 
in',  and  they  think  he  won't  get  over  it ;  but  I  did 
not  like  to  tell  you,  bekase  I  was  afeerd  you'd  go 
down  there  and  git  hurt ;  for  Mongrel's  desperit,  and 
does  nothing  but  curse  preachers  and  threaten  'em." 

"I  will  go  and  see  Mr.  Mongrel,"  said  the  young 
parson,  taking  up  his  cap  and  gloves  and  moving  tow- 
ards the  door.  "  I  can  finish  my  visit  to  you  some 
other  time." 

"  0,  Mr.  Meagre,  don't  go,"  said  the  fearful  wo- 
man, taking  her  pipe  out  of  her  mouth  and  following 
him  out  of  the  house.  "  Mongrel  will  curse  you  for 
all  that's  bad." 

"  His  curses  will  be  very  harmless,  madam,"  said 
the  preacher. 

"  Yes,  but  he'll  kill  you  if  he  can,  and  then  his  house 
bears  such  a  bad  name  with  that  old  woman,  and  her 
daughter  there.  It's  no  place  for  a  preacher  to  go!  " 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  being  killed,"  replied  the  par- 
son, smiling.  "  Nor  am  I  afraid  that  my  reputation 
will  suffer  for  going  where  my  duty  calls  me.  Where 
is  the  house  ?" 

"  There  it  is,"  said  the  woman,  pointing  with  the 
stem  of  her  pipe  to  a  low  cabin  away  off  in  an  open 
field,  by  the  edge  of  the  woods. 

"  Can  I  ride  down  there?"  asked  the  parson. 
11* 


126  THE    YOU  KG.  PARSON. 

"  Yes,  if  you  let  down  the  bars  by  the  barn  here. 
The  field  runs  away  up  here,  you  see.  But  you  bet- 
ter not  go ;  the  dogs  are  oncommon  cross." 

"  I  am  more  afraid  of  the  dogs  than  anything  else, 
madam ;  but  your  husband  will  keep  them  from  hurt- 
ing me." 

"  There  goes  my  old  man  now,"  said  the  old  lady, 
pointing  to  a  person  that  came  out  of  the  cabin  and 
took  off  through  the  woods.  "  He's  going  to  the  cross- 
roads for  the  doctor,  I'se  warrant  you,  and  all  the 
dogs  a  follerin'  him ;  you  see  they  are  often  up  here, 
'cause  they're  most  starved  at  home,  and  are  kind  of 
'quainted  with  us." 

"  I  am  glad  they  are  following  your  husband,"  said 
Rev.  Petit,  "  as-  they  will  not  now  be  likely  to  an- 
noy me." 

"Well,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  the  good  woman,  "if 
you  will  go,  I  hope  you'll  have  good  luck,  but  I'm 
afeerd  not.  If  Mrs.  Middleton  know'd  this,  she'd  be 
awful  oneasy.  Believe  she  thinks  as  much  of  you  as 
she  does  of  that  little  twelve-year-old  grand-darter  of 
her'n,  that's  growin'  up  around  her  there." 

"  Mrs.  Middleton  is  certainly  very  kind  to  me," 
replied  the  little  parson,  "  and  perhaps  all  the  more 
so  because  she  thinks  me  disposed  to  be  faithful  in 
every  duty." 

By  this  time  the  young  preacher  had  mounted  his 
horse.  The  old  lady  laid  her  pipe  on  the  ledge  of 
the  bakeoven,  saying  that  she  did  not  like  to  take  it 


M  EAGRE'S   DISCIPLE.  127 

so  near  to  the  barn,  and  followed  her  pastor  to  let 
down  the  bars,  so  that  he  "  need  not  light  off." 

"You've  got  a  deal  of  spunk,  Mr.  Meagre,  for  a 
little  man,"  she  said :  "  aint  afeerd  to  go  to  see  the 
cholera,  crazy  people  nor  nothin'." 

"  0  no,"  replied  he,  as  the  horse  stumbled  over  the 
rai-ls  she  had  lowered.  "  You  people,  perhaps,  over- 
estimate the  danger  to  which  we  ministers  are  ex- 
posed ;  and  at  any  rate  we  are  not  to  shrink  from 
anything,  but  put  our  trust  in  God." 

Mrs.  Middleton's  predictions  in  regard  to  the 
weather  were  now  being  verified,  for  it  had  become 
uncomfortably  cold.  Besides,  night  had  come  on  sud- 
denly, as  it  often  seems  to  do  when  the  days  have  been 
shortened  by  the  changing  seasons :  still  here  was  a 
work  that  could  not  be  delayed,  for  to-morrow  might 
be  too  late. 

As  the  young  preacher  rode  through  the  field,  ho 
was  impressed  with  the  dreariness  of  the  scene  by 
which  he  was  surrounded.  The  purple  glories  of  au- 
tumn had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  the  wind  roared 
through  the  bare  woods,  bending  the  sturdy  trees  be- 
fore the  blast.  The  sun  had  gone  down  an  hour  be- 
fore, and  the  moon  had  not  yet  arisen.  Dark  wintry 
clouds  floated  across  the  sky,  often  obscuring  the  few 
stars  that  twinkled  in  the  silence  of  the  infinite.  The 
only  light  that  he  had  to  guide  him  was  that  which 
gleamed  through  the  tattered  roof  and  open  crevices 
of  the  hovel,  making  it  look  more  like  a  huge  lantern 
than  a  human  dwelling.  Indeed  it  was  a  wild,  weird 


128  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

scene  that  presented  itself  to  his  view  —  that  miser- 
able hut,  in  the  open  field  on  the  margin  of  the  wil- 
derness, lit  up  by  a  fitful  glare,  as  if  the  witches,  long 
banished  from  Pumbeditha,  had  taken  up  their  abode 
in  that  dreary  place,  and  were  uttering  their  voices  in 
the  moaning  winds.  But  he  had  no  need  to  draw  upon 
his  imagination,  in'  order  to  invest  the  scenes  and  in- 
cidents before  him  with  dreary  interest.  There  was 
a  sad  reality  about  them  which  could  not  be  height- 
ened. He  was  approaching  a  habitation  of  guilt, 
where  a  long  life  of  crime  was  about  ending  in  curses, 
and  Nature  seemed  to  be  wailing  a  requiem  overfallen, 
impenitent  man.  Oh  !  to  die  at  all  seems  hard  at 
times,  but  to  die  in  the  rnidst  of  such  scenes,  and 
without  God  and  without  hope  in  the  world,  has  a 
terribleness  about  it  which  no  thought  or  imagination 
can  increase. 

As  there  was  no  fence  about  the  house,  except  on 
the  side  towards  the  woods,  Mr.  Meagre  rode  quite 
up  to  the  door.  Indeed,  the  horse  put  his  fore  feet 
on  the  broad  limestone  slab  that  h;id  been  placed  there 
as  a  sort  of  step,  and  the  clatter  of  the  ironed  hoof 
brought  an  old  woman  to  the  rude  aperture  of  the 
hovel.  She  put  out  her  head  and  said,  "  Tie  your 
horse  to  the  plum  tree  at  the  gable  end  of  the  house, 
and  come  in ; "  then  withdrew  into  the  house,  closing 
the  door  after  her,  and  leaving  the  minister  out  in  the 
dark.  He  succeeded,  however,  in  finding  the  tree ; 
tied  the  horse,  and  entered  the  cabin. 

At  first  the  light  blinded  him,  but  he  retained  his 


MR.     MONGREL    AND    HIS    FAMILY.     129 

presence  of  mind,  so  as  to  be  ready  for  any  emer- 
gency, although  he  did  not  expect  any  formidable  en- 
counter. For  the  scene  that  presented  itself  within 
that  little  casement  of  old  logs,  Mr.  Meagre  was  in 
some  measure  prepared.  It  corresponded  somewhat 
with  the  outward  appearance  of  things,  and  yet  strange 
sensations  took  possession  of  him  at  first.  For  an  in- 
stant he  forgot  the  old  man  whose  malady  had  brought 
him  there,  and  who  was  now  lying  quietly  in  an  ob- 
scure corner  of  the  room.  This  afforded  the  clerical 
visitor  an  opportunity  to  take  some  notice  of  the  other 
inmates  of  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.    MONGREL    AND    HIS    FAMILY. 

THERE  was  a  large  fireplace  at  one  end  of  the  hut, 
built  of  stones  that  had  long  been  darkened  by  smoke 
and  the  prints  of  greasy  hands.  On  the  hearth  was 
a  fire  of  faggots,  which  gave  heat  and  light  to  those 
in  the  house.  At  one  side  of  the  hearth,  on  a  low- 
stool,  sat  the  old  woman  who  had  opened  the  door,  a 
living  representation  of  the  word  "  crone,"  and  at 
the  other  side  an  idiot  girl,  deaf  and  dumb,  as  the 
young  preacher  soon  found  out.  Behind  these,  three 
children,  ono  a  bright-eyed  little  lass,  sought  to  hide 


130  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

and  shelter  themselves,  as  if  they  feared  the  slender 
preacher's  voice  more  than  the  maniac  ravings  that 
had  just  ceased;  and  a  stalwart  woman,  of  about 
thirty-five  years,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room  as 
if  she  had  been  struck  stiff  and  mute  by  a  sudden 
apparition.  A  doorless  cupboard,  containing  a  few 
dishes,  two  old  chests,  three  crazy  chairs,  and  a  miser- 
able bed  on  which  the  poor  inebriate  lay,  these,  to- 
gether with  a  large  rough  ash-hopper,  made  up  the 
furniture.  Various  articles  of  female  attire  hung 
around  on  the  logs  of  which  the  hut  was  built,  and 
many  rags  had  been  used  to  supply  the  place  of 
chinking  and  daubing,  in  the  vain  effort  to  keep  out 
the  cold. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Mr.  Meagre. 

This  salutation  was  acknowledged  only  by  a  vacant 
stare,  and  the  parson  had  to  begin  again. 

"  I  heard,"  he  said,  "  that  Mr.  Mongrel  was  ill,  and 
came  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything  for  him." 

"You  are  the  doctor's  student,  aint  you?"  asked 
the  woman  who  stood  in  the  floor,  placing  her  arms 
akimbo.  "  Rec'on  the  doctor  couldn't  come  when 
Stemple  told  him  old  man  was  so  bad.  and  sent  you." 

"  I  am  not  the  doctor's  student,"  replied  Mr.  Mea- 
gre, "I  am" 

"  0,  I  know  who  he  is,  Madge,"  broke  in  the  old 
•woman,  shaking  her  skinny  finger  at  the  stripling 
clergyman,  but  addressing  the  standing  woman. 
"  He's  the  little  preacher  that  speaks  at  Pum'ditha ;  I 
seed  him  when  1  was  in  town  the  last  time,  but  he 


MR.     MONGREL    AND    HIS    FAMILY.      131 

didn't  see  me,  and  if  he'd  a  know'd  all,  he  wouldn't 
a  wanted  to  know  me." 

"  My  presence  here  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Meagre, 
"  is  enough  to  show  you  that  I  am  willing  to  give  you 
any  aid  in  my  power." 

"  You  don't  deny,  then,  that  you  are  the  preacher  ? " 
asked  Madge. 

"  Certainly  not,  and  I  have  as  much  to  do  here  as 
any  doctor  in  the  world." 

This  announcement  seemed  to  create  some  conster- 
nation, but  Mr.  Meagre  broke  the  silence  by  saying : 
"  I  am  here  in  the  name  of  my  Lord  and  Master, 
to  offer  to  you  and  that  sick  man  full  and  free  sal- 
vation, if  you  will  only  take  it."  Then  turning  to  the 
old  woman,  he  asked,  "Are  you  Mrs.  Mongrel?" 

"Bin  living  with  him  nearly  all  my  life.  They 
call  me  old  Mink." 

"And  who  are  you?"  he  asked  of  the  younger 
woman. 

"  I  am  their  daughter,  and  these  are  my  children," 
was  the  reply. 

"And  who  is  this  poor  girl?"  asked  Mr.  Meagre, 
looking  kindly  at  her  as  if  waiting  a  reply. 

"  She  can't  hear  or  speak,"  said  Madge.  "  She's 
iny  sister,  I  'spec'." 

The  young  parson  turned  sadly  away.  "  Is  Mr. 
Mongrel  asleep?"  he  asked,  remembering  that  his 
immediate  mission  was  with  him. 

"  Only  stupid,  I  guess,"  said  Madge. 

"Well,  I  want  to  speak  to  him,  if  he  is  at  all  in  a 


132  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

condition  to  hear  me,"  said  the  parson.  "  Have  you 
a  candle  ?  I  want  to  see  his  face,  and  I  want  him  to 
see  mine." 

"  I'll  light  up  the  lamp,"  said  the  woman,  taking 
down  an  old  black  one  suspended  by  links  of  stiff  wire, 
the  end  one  of  which  was  pointed  and  stuck  into  the 
cracks  of  the  stones  in  the  chimney. 

"  You  had  better  get  near  the  lather,  so  you  can  run 
up  the  loft,"  said  the  old  woman.  "He  can't  foller 
you  there." 

"  There  is  no  more  danger  for  me  here  than  for  you," 
said  Rev.  Petit. 

"  He  run  us  both  up  there  to-day,"  replied  the  old 
woman.  "  It  was  a  good  thing  the  children  was  out 
huntin'  chestnuts." 

By  the  time  the  old  lady  had  made  these  pleasing 
announcements,  Madge,  as  she  was  called,  had  filled 
the  lamp  with  something  that  she  dignified  by  the  name 
of  fat,  picked  the  wick  with  the  end  of  the  wire,  lit 
it,  and  was  moving  cautiously  to  the  couch  of  the  sick 
man.  Mr.  Meagre  followed  her,  and  as  he  looked 
upon  the  abject  victim  of  disease,  stretched  upon  his 
miserable  bed,  he  thought  that  he  had  never  seen  a 
more  pitiable  object  —  no,  not  even  in  the  city  hos- 
pitals and  almshouses,  where  a  great  deal  of  misery 
had  come  under  his  notice. 

The  poor  man  had  lost  all  the  hair  from  the  lashes 
of  his  inflamed  and  bloodshotten  eyes,  and  shrank  from 
the  light  in  evident  pain.  The  young  clergyman 
shielded  him  from  the  glare  of  the  lamp  with  his  hand. 


MR.    MONGREL    AND    HIS    FAMILY.     123 

"  Take  it  away,"  he  said  to  the  woman,  "  stick  it 
in  the  log  behind  those  clothes ;  screen  it  in  some  way 
or  blow  it  out,  and  put  more  faggots  on  the  fire,  and 
we  will  have  light  enough." 

He  then  drew  up  a  chair  near  to  the  bed,  and  asked 
kindly,  "  Have  you  much  pain,  Mr.  Mongrel?" 

"No,"  replied  the  man,  bluntly. 

"  Have  you  been  asleep  ?  " 

"  Heard  everything  was  going  on  among  you  folks 
out  there,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Then  you  know  who  I  am  and  what  I  came  for," 
said  the  young  preacher. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  man,  "and  I  tell  you  that  you 
are  a  very  smart  man  to  come  just  now  when  the  spell's 
gone  from  me,  or  me  and  you'd  a  both  been  buried 
together  to-morrow  out  under  the  big  oak  in  the  middle 
of  the  road.  I  had  a  notion  all  day  that  you  were 
about,  and  run  out  and  got  the  old  sickle  that  stuck 
in  the  log  at  the  end  of  the  house,  to  fix  you  off,  and 
they  couldn't  get  it  away  from  me,  neither." 

"  Where  is  the  sickle  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Meagre. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  he,  pulling  it  out  from  the  ragged 
bed-clothes. 

"Now  just  give  it  to  me,"  said  the  preacher. 

"  I  might  as  well,"  said  the  poor  man,  handing  it 
over.  "Everything  is  agin  me." 


12 


134  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MR.  MONGREL  AND  THE  TWO  PHYSICIANS. 

THE  young  preacher  took  the  sickle  and  for  an  in- 
stant thought  of  keeping  it  for  his  own  defence,  but 
immediately  gave  up  the  idea  as  unworthy  and  unwise ; 
so  he  gave  it  to  Madge  and  directed  her  to  throw  it 
away.  *' I  am  not  against  you,  Mr.  Mongrel,"  he 
said,  "  and  a  greater  One  than  I  am  will  not  be  against 
you,  if  you  will  only  turn  to  Him  and  live." 

"Who's  that?"  he  asked. 

"  He  who  made  you  and  is  anxious  to  save  you : 
'  God  so  loved  the  world  that  He  gave  his  only  be- 
gotten Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  Him  should 
not  perish  but  have  everlasting  life.'  You  said  some- 
thing about  being  buried  to-morrow,  and  I  suppose  you 
have  an  idea  that  you  may  not  live  long,  but  what  is 
to  become  of  you  after  death  ?  That  is  the  grea.t 
question  now.  Do  you  think  you  will  go  to  heaven 
when  you  die  ?" 

"  I  expect  to  get  there  as  soon  as  the  breath  leaves 
my  body,"  said  he. 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ? "  asked  the  parson. 
"  Do  you  think  you  have  ever  done  anything  to  earn 
heaven  ?  —  do  you  expect  to  go  there  because  of  your 
good  works  ?  " 


THE    TWO    PHYSICIANS.  135 

"  Can't  work  much  now,"  he  said,  "  but  when  I  was 
a  young  man  I  got  out  all  the  stones  in  Middleton's 
smokehouse  in  three  da,ys,  and  had  to  open  the  quarry 
at  that." 

The  doctor,  who  had  come  in  while  this  conversation 
was  going  on,  seemed  highly  amused  at  this  last  obser- 
vation. To  Mr.  Meagre,  however,  it  was  no  subject 
of  merriment.  The  poor  man's  ignorance  was  deplor- 
able. The  young  parson  had  perhaps  no  difficulty  in 
his  own  mind  in  regard  to  one  thing:  whether  quarry- 
ing stones  rapidly  and  well,  if  done  in  the  temper  of 
one  who  tries  to  fulfil  his  duty  to  his  neighbor — whether 
such  deeds,  as  ,the  fruits  of  the  Spirit,  might  not  be 
ranged  in  the  catalogue  of  good  works  as  well  as  pro- 
fessed acts  of  penance  and  charity,  was  a  question  of 
easy  solution.  But  Mr.  Mongrel,  perhaps,  had  no  such 
ideas  of  things — no  conception  of  the  moral  qualities 
of  actions.  To  enlighten  him,  and  to  present  to  him 
the  simple  truths  of  revealed  religion  in  such  a  way 
that  he  might,  by  the  blessing  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  be 
made  wi.se  unto  salvation,  was  now  the  great  concern 
of  the  young  incumbent. 

"  Mr.  Mongrel,"  said  he,  "  when  you  quarried  those 
stones  you  perhaps  were  anxious  to  do  a  good  day's 
work  for  Mr.  Middleton,  and  that  was  all  very  well, 
for  it  ought  to  be  a  part  of  religion ;  or  you  may  have 
been  simply  anxious  to  show  people  how  much  you 
could  do  with  a  pick  and  shovel,  but  had  you  the  fear 
of  God  before  your  eyes,  and  did  the  love  of  Christ 
constrain  you?" 


136  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"Was  tight,  and" cursing  all  day,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  now,  if  you  had  not  tasted  a  drop  of  liquor 
nor  sworn  an  oath  that  day,  or  in  all  your  life  ;  if  you 
had  not  done  anything  that  men  could  find  fault  with, 
and  if  you  had  tried  in  your  own  strength  to  do  what 
God  commanded  you  to  do,  you  would  not  have  been 
ahle  to  earn  Heaven.  No  man  could  earn  favor  in 
God's  sight  in  that  way.  Good  works  are  all  well 
enough;  they  are  necessary  as  the  fruits  of  a  new  life* 
but  you  must  first  take  the  new  life  itself  from  God  as 
alms,  and  that  too  in  His  own  way.  The  gift  of  God 
is  eternal  life  through  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord." 

Mr.  Meagre  then  proceeded  to  tell  the  poor  man  of 
Christ,  Who  He  was  and  what  He  had  done  for  him ; 
and  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  Who  was  to  dispose  and  enable 
him  to  repent  and  believe.  There  was  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  ignorance  and  shrewdness  manifested  in  the 
remarks  with  which  the  poor  invalid  interrupted  the 
instructions  given  to  him.  His  mind  seemed  to  be 
altogether  uninformed  on  these  subjects  ;  there  had, 
perhaps,  never  been  that  lodgment  of  precious  truth 
in  his  heart  which  so  often  proves  available  to  the 
minister  of  the  Gospel,  and  to  those  with  whom  he 
has  to  do,  after  it  has  lain  apparently  forgotten  for 
many  years.  And*et  there  were  not  wanting  those 
brilliant  scintillations  which  so  often  emanate  from  the 
human  brain  in  its  frenzied  state.  Sometimes  the  in- 
experienced young  pastor  was  sadly  embarrassed  by 
the  low,  grovelling  conceptions  the  man  had  of  religion, 
and  then  again  he  was  put  to  his  wit's  end  by  a  bright 


THE    TWO    PHYSICIANS.  137 

repartee.  This  embarrassment  was  increased  by  the 
fact  th.it  he  did  not  know  how  far  he  could  depend 
upon  the  poor  inebriate's  sanity. 

The  bullion  the  young  parson  had  brought  from  the 
seminary  in  the  way  of  a  system  of  theology,  had  to 
be  coined  for  circulation  and  use.  Clinic  il  preaching 
seemed  to  be  a  different  thing  even  from  pulpit  prench- 
ing, and  yet  he  was  more  fully  impressed  with  the  entire 
adaptation  of  the  plan  of  salvation  to  the  real  wants 
of  man  that  night,  in  that  lonely  hut,  than  he  had  ever 
been  impressed  with  it  before.  The  facts  connected 
with  the  mediatorial  work  of  Christ  —  the  birth,  life, 
death,  resurrection,  and  intercession  of  the  Incarnate 
God,  whereby  the  redemption  of  human  nature  was 
actually  accomplished  in  His  Person,  and  the  office  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  in  making  this  available  for  any  man, 
by  repeating  in  him,  as  a  member  of  His  body  mysti- 
cal, all  that  He  had  fulfilled  as  the  living  Head, — these 
truths,  these  facts,  seemed  all  sufficient.  And  these 
truths  had  been  so  clearly  set  forth  by  Holy  Writ,  that 
the  young  minister  had  only  to  repeat  them  in  the 
words  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures  in  order  to  meelfthe 
demands  of  the  case.  Indeed,  there  was  more  than  a 
compensation  for  his  own  want  of  experience  and  tact, 
not  only  in  the  nature  of  God's  plan  of  salvation,  but 
in  the  way  in  which  He  had  declared  it.  He  therefore 
quoted  passages  from  the  New  Testament,  in  the  way 
of  mere  assertion,  selecting  those  in  which  the  grace 
of  God  was  more  particularly  set  forth,  as  divinely 
constituted  to  challenge  faith,  and  looked  to  the  Sanc- 
12* 


138  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

•tifier  for  a  blessing.  The  parable  of  the  one  lost  sheep, 
simply  read  without  a  word  of  human  comment,  seemed 
to  the  young  parson  to  have  a  wondrous  beauty  and 
power  in  it.  It  brought  to  his  own  mind  a  new  reali- 
zation of  the  full  import  of  the  word  "Grospel,"  and  he 
resolved  that  the  lesson  then  taught  him  should  not  be 
lost  sight  of  in  the  public  ministrations  of  the  sanc- 
tuary. And  the  simple  assertion  of  God's  proffered 
mercy,  of  Christ's  seeking  love,  seemed  to  rivet  the 
sick  man's  attention,  allaying  his  fears  and  soothing 
his  mind  in  such  a  way  as  to  attract  the  notice  of  the 
attending  physician. 

"  I  am  afraid,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Meagre  to  him, 
"  that  I  may  be  taxing  the  strength  of  your  patient 
too  heavily.  He  is  very  weak,  and  I  had  perhaps 
better  hand  him  over  to  you  for  the  present." 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Meagre,"  replied  he,  "that  you  are 
perhaps  doing  the  man  more  good  than  I  could  do 
him.  I  do  not  know  how  to  account  for  it,  but  he  is 
more  rational  and  composed  now  than  he  has  been  for 
three  days.  I  do  not  think  that  it  -  is  altogether 
physical  reaction  either :  that  would  have  prostrated 
him  more.  It  is  hard  to  say  what  ought  to  be  done, 
as  it  would  scarcely  be  safe  to  risk  a  stimulant,  and 
opiates  have  lost  their  power  upon  him.  Everything 
depends  upon  his  being  kept  quiet,  for  if  he  becomes 
delirious  again,  he  will  never  be  able  to  rally  from  the 
effects  of  it.  I  doubt  whether  he  will  live  until  the 
morning  in  any  case." 

"Then  I  will  at  least  commend  him  to  God's  mercy 


THE    TWO    PHYSICIANS.  139 

and  grace,"  said  the  young  clergyman ;  and  kneeling 
down  on  the  damp  earthen  floor,  he  offered  up  a  fer- 
vent prayer,  probably  the  first  that  had  ever  been 
heard  in  that  cabin,  although  it  was  now  rotting  down 
with  age. 

When  the  young  pastor  arose  from  his  knees,  he 
observed  that  the  doctor  had  bowed  his  head  during 
the  prayer,  but  the  wretched  inmates  of  the  house 
had  not  assumed  anything  like  a  reverential  posture. 

"I  hope,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  the  physician,  "that 
you  will  excuse  me  if  I  seemed  to  be  amused  at  some 
things  here  to-night.  I  am  sorry  that  I  allowed  my- 
self to  be  betrayed  into  such  manifest  impropriety, 
but  I  meant  no  disrespect  to  the  religion  you  repre- 
sent, nor  to  the  poor  man  whose  misery  ought  to  be 
pitied  rather  than  laughed  at.  I  hope,  sir,  that  my 
disclaimer  of  any  intentional  irreverence  will  be  suffi- 
cient." 

''  Certainly,  sir,"  replied  the  young  parson,  "  I  can 
readily  understand  how  strangely  some  things  struck 
your  mind,  as  I  have  myself  a  very  keen  sense  of  the 
ridiculous,  which  often  gives  me  trouble — never,  how- 
ever, with  such  scenes  before  me  as  those  we  have 
witnessed  during  the  last  few  hours.  I  have  an  op- 
pressive sense  of  responsibility  which  often  checks  my 
disposition  to  run  into  folly." 

"  Since  I  have  been  here,"  said  the  doctor,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "  I  have  wondered  why  it  is  that 
ministers  of  the  Gospel  and  physicians  do  not  see 
more  'eye  to  eye'  than  they  do." 


140  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"  I  do  always  try  to  see  eye  to  eye  with  every 
physician  that  I  am  accustomed  to  meet  in  the  sick 
chamber,"  said  the  preacher.  "  I  find  it  an  advan- 
tage to  me  in  my  ministration  of  holy  things,  and  not 
unfrequently  to  the  persons  to  whom  I  minister." 

"And  in  this  case,  at  least,  I  hope  it  will  be  of 
some  profit  to  the  physician,"  said  the  doctor. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Mr.  Meagre. 
"You,  I  believe,  are  Doctor  Banks?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  acknowledging  the  recognition 
•with  a  bow.  "  I  have  an  office  at  Carlton's  Cross 
Roads,  about  a  mile  from  here.  I  am  glad  to  meet 
with  you,  sir,  although  I  regret  the  sad  occasion  that 
has  called  us  together  to-night." 

It  Avas  now  Mr.  Meagre's  turn  to  bow,  which  he 
did,  extending  his  hand  at  the  same  time.  "  I  hope," 
he  said,  "  we  will  meet  often,  and  that  under  more 
plt'as-int  circumstances,  although  I  do  not  regret  that 
we  h.i  ve  become  personally  acquainted  with  each  other 
at  a  post  of  duty ;  and  I  hope  that  our  coming  here 
will  yet  be  an  advantage  to  the  sick  man.  By  the 
way,  doctor,"  he  added,  "  physicians  ought  to  be  among 
the  most  faithful  Christians  in  the  world.  There  is 
an  awful  responsibility  resting  upon  those  who  are 
necessarily  thrown  so  much  with  the  sick  and  the 
dying.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  see  how  one  in  your 
profession  can  rest,  when  even  after  performing  a 
great  duty  by  doing  all  in  his  power  for  the  bodies  of 
men,  he  yet  neglects  a  greater  duty  that  he  owes  to 


THE    TWO    PHYSICIANS.  141 

their  souls,  and  allows  them  to  go  all  sin-sick  into 
eternity  without  an  effort  to  save  them." 

"  I  have  often  thought  of  that,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said 
the  doctor,  "  and  do  not  think  I  will  be  apt  to  think 
less  of  it  after  having  met  you  here  this  evening.  I 
think  that  you  will,  at  least,  find  me  sympathizing 
with  you  in  your  holy  mission  in  this  neighborhood. 
It  is  as  you  say ;  a  man's  spiritual  interests  are  his 
highest  interests.  God  grant  that  I  may  not  neglect 
my  own  even  in  the  midst  of  engrossing  professional 
duties." 

"  I  can  readily  say  '  amen  '  to  that  prayer  for  your 
self,"  said  the  parson.  ''Our  professional  duties 
often  lead  us  to  conceive  of  the  various  departments 
of  man's  being  as  altogether  independent  of  each 
other,  and  this  again  leads  us  to  a  one-sided  view  of 
our  duty.  It  is  well  enough,  perhaps  necessary,  for 
us  to  have  specialties.  The  minister  of  the  Gospel 
has  an  office  given  to  him  by  the  Church,  the  func- 
tions of  which  it  would  not  be  safe  for  every  one  to 
assume ;  and  so  the  physician  has  a  duty  to  perform, 
the  responsibilities  of  which  ministers  generally 
could  not  undertake,  but  still  all  the  parts  of  our 
being  are  organically  united,  and  only  in  this  may 
constitute  the  man.  It  was  the  whole  man  that 
Christ  redeemed,  and  it  is  with  the  whole  man  that 
we  have  to  do  in  our  mission.  If  that  poor  man's 
soul  is  saved,  it  will  of  course  involve  the  redemption 
of  his  body  from  the  power  of  corruption.  I  claim 
that  in  the  second  Adam  we  will  regain  everything 


142  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

that  we  lost  in  the  first,  and  with  all  due  respect  for 
your  laws  of  hygiene  and  medical  science,  the  best 
thing  you  can  do  for  the  final  restoration  of  that  dis- 
eased body,  is  to  be  the  instrument  of  making  it  a  fit 
habitation  of  God  through  the  Spirit.  But  we  may 
have  an  opportunity  to  speak  of  these  things  again. 
Just  now  I  am  interested  in  this  miserable  family. 
Do  you  know  anything  of  its  history?" 

"Not  much,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "I  only  know 
that  it  has  had  no  very  enviable  reputation." 

"And  is  there  no  one  to  stay  here  to-night  with  the 
sick  man  but  these  unfortunate  women  ?" 

"  Mr.  Stemple  and  his  farm  hand  will  be  here  after 
a  little  while,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  and  they  may  have 
but  little  trouble  with  the  patient  if  he  gets  to  sleep, 
as  I  now  hope  he  will.  He  will  scarcely  survive  many 
days,  however." 

"  In  the  meantime  I  will  be  glad  to  do  anything  I 
c:»n  for  him."  said  the  parson,  "but  I  do  not  see  that 
I  can  do  anything  more  for  him  to-night,  and  \f  he  is 
cared  for  I  would  like  to  get  back  to  the  village.  I 
have  Mr.  Middleton's  horse  here  without  shelter,  and 
fear  that  there  will  be  some  anxiety  about  me." 

"You  will  hardly  find  your  way  back  alone,  although 
the  moon  shines  out  at  times  now,"  said  the  doctor; 
"but  if  you  will  wait  a  moment  I  will  pilot  you  part 
of  the  way,  and  then  you  will  have  no  difficulty.  I 
bear  those  men  coming  now." 

The  sick  man  soon  fell  asleep,  and  the  young  parson 
left  with  the  doctor,  promising  to  return  in  the  morn- 


THE    TWO     PHYSICIANS.  143 

ing,  but  half  fearful  that  death  would  close  the  drama 
of  the  poor  inebriate's  existence  before  the  night  was 
over.  The  doctor,  who  had  tied  his  horse  in  the  woods 
outside  of  the  fence,  let  down  a  pair  of  bars,  in  order 
that  the  parson  might  go  with  him  by  a  nearer  road 
than  that  which  ran  round  by  Mr.  Stemple's  house. 
They  rode  together  until  they  came  to  the  Cross  Roads, 
from  which  point  Mr.  Meagre  had  no  trouble  in  finding 
his  way  back  to  Pumbeditha.  It  was  long  after  mid- 
night when  he  got  there,  yet  he  found  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Middleton  waiting  for  him,  all  the  more  anxiously 
because  they  had  received  some  intimation  of  where 
he  had  gone,  and  feared,  from  what  they  knew  of  old 
Mr.  Mongrel,  that  their  pastor  might  have  an  adven- 
ture. 

The  young  parson  felt  a  glad  relief  when  he  found 
himself  "  at  home  "  in  Mr.  Middleton's  house.  For 
the  comforts  which  there  surrounded  him  he  felt  de- 
voutly thankful.  The  scenes  through  which  he  had 
just  passed  came  up  before  his  mind,  and  presented  a 
singular  contrast.  While  a  piece  of  toast  was  being 
prepared  for  him,  he  sat  down  before  the  hickory  fire, 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  Mrs.  Middleton 
thought  him  despondent,  but  her  kind-hearted,  hopeful 
husband,  who  sat  near  her,  placed  his  hand  upon  the 
young  man's  curly  head,  and  said :  "  In  the  morning 
sow  thy  seed,  and  in  the  evening  withhold  not  thy  hand, 
for  thou  knowest  not  whether  shall  prosper  eithei  this 
or  that,  or  whether  both  shall  be  good  alike." 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Meagre  went  back  to  the 


144  T  II  R     YOUNG     PARSON. 

hovc-1  and  found  the  old  man  alive.  The  slumber  into 
which  he  had  fallen  the  night  before  had  not  yet  been 
broken.  Towards  evening  he  awoke  apparently  much 
refreshed.  Mrs.  Middleton  sent  him  some  gruel  which 
strengthened  him  greatly;  and  although  life  seemed 
to  ebb  and  flow  for  several  days,  at  the  end  of  a  week 
the  aged  invalid  was  sitting  up  by  the  fire  of  faggots  in 
his  cabin. 

Of  course  the  young  parson  paid  every  attention  to 
the  poor  man,  and  was  sorry  on  his  account  when 
obliged  to  leave  Pumbeditha  for  Gainfield.  Upon  his 
return  to  the  neighborhood,  Mr.  Mongrel  was  the  first 
person  after  whom  he  inquired,  and  he  was  glad  to 
hear  that  he  survived  and  was  convalescent.  "  He  has 
not  been  able  to  get  out  of  the  house  yet,"  said  Mr. 
Middleton,  "  but  that  has,  perhaps,  been  fortunate,  as 
he  might  have  run  into  dissipation  and  put  an  end  to 
his  life." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

WITCHCRAFT. 

BUT  Mr.  Meagre  found  that  Pumbeditha  had  been 
doing  full  justice  to  its  ancient  fame  as  a  city  of  won- 
ders. Some  report  of  his  visit  to  Mr.  Mongrel  had 
gone  abroad  and  been  greatly  exaggerated.  Rumor 
had  it  that  the  young  parson  was  first  directed  to  the 
hovel  by  special  revelation  —  a  guiding  star,  or  a 


WITCHCRAFT.  145 

fiery  cross  blazing  in  the  sky.  It  was  said  that  at 
his  first  approach  the  old  man  had  lodged  the  con- 
tents of  a  large  ducking-gun  right  in  the  little  preach- 
er's brain,  and  that  the  young  servant  of  the  Church 
had  been  preserved  by  a  miracle.  It  was  further 
said  that  old  Mr.  Mongrel  had  pursued  Mr.  Meagre 
over  a  thirty-acre  field  with  a  scythe,  frequently  pass- 
ing it  through  his  body  in  a  vain  attempt  to  kill 
him  ;  and  that  after  a  mortal  conflict,  lasting  from 
sundown  until  midnight,  the  young  clergyman  had 
worked  a  charm  upon  his  adversary.  He  "  had  pow- 
wowed the  fits  out  of  the  old  feller,  and  then  held  him 
still  like  a  snake  holds  a  bird."  Of  course  the  old 
man  finally  begged  off,  for  fear  of  being  irresistibly 
drawn  down  the  clerical  throat.  Old  Mr.  Ludwig, 
the  man  who  kept  the  inverted  horseshoe  over  his 
door,  said  the  witches  had  got  hold  of  Mongrel,  and 
Meagre  had  "  lay'd  'em ;"  and  that  any  preacher  that 
could  drive  the  witches  out  of  a  man  could  put  them 
into  one.  "  I  not  want  dat  Meagre  to  kom  near  my 
blace,"  he  said.  "  He  fools  Krime,  und  he  fools  Mon- 
grel, but  I  keeps  de  crick  'tween  me  und  him." 

Indeed  the  young  parson  had  rendered  himself  no- 
torious. He-  was  looked  upon  as  one  who  wore  a 
charmed  life,  impervious  to  lead  and  steel,  and  who 
might  do  any  amount  of  mischief  to  crops  and  cattle, 
and  yet  escape  undetected  and  unharmed.  Rogero's 
winged  horse,  Orlando's  enchanted  sword,  and  the  in 
visible  mantle  of  Jack  the  Giant  Killer,  were  certainly 
at  his  command.  He  need  not,  therefore,  be  afraid 
18 


146  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

\ 

of  the  Evil  One,  and  was  perhaps  himself  an  imp  of 
Beelzebub,  doing  wonders  in  the  name  of  his  prince. 
This,  however,  was  only  believed  by  a  certain  class 
of  the  people.  Another  class,  not  less  fond  of  gossip, 
but  whose  credulity  took  a  more  modern  form,  re- 
peated other  strange  stories  of  what  had  been  said 
and  done  on  that  eventful  night  and  the  few  days 
that  followed,  none  of  which  were  true  excepting  one. 
Before  going  to  Gainfield  Mr.  Meagre  had  really  ex- 
pressed a  hope  that  Mr.  Mongrel  might  yet  be  bap- 
tized and  partake  of  the  holy  Eucharist.  The  old 
man's  bar-room  companions  and  the  outlawed  young 
men  of  the  neighborhood  thought  this  a  rich  joke; 
and  these,  with  a  few  professing  Christians  of  liberal 
views  and  exalted  piety,  who  feared  that  their  holi- 
ness would  be  outraged  by  association  with  publicans 
and  sinners,  joined  in  sheerest  derision  and  scorn,  and 
with  one  voice  gave  the  poor  old  man  the  opprobrious 
name  of  "Meagre's  disciple." 

It  was  some  time  before  the  young  parson  knew  of 
the  ridiculous  notoriety  his  visit  to  poor  old  Mr. 
Mongrel  had  gained  for  him.  While  at  Grainfield  he 
had  heard  nothing  of  it,  and  although  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton,  in  a  letter  to  him,  made  some  reference  to  a  scene 
or  two  in  Macbeth,  he  thought  she  meant  to  remind 
him  of  some  of  his  pranks  and  recitations  when  alone 
with  the  family  during  the  long  evenings  of  the  pre- 
vious winter.  Nor  did  any  of  the  members  of  Mr. 
Middleton's  family  say  anything  to  the  young  pastor 
about  this  matter  when  he  next  came  to  Pumbeditha. 


WITCHCRAFT.  147 

They  made  it  a  point  never  to  communicate  to  him  the 
gossip  they  happened  to  hear,  because  they  thought  it 
might  be  unpleasant  and  unprofitable  to  him.  In  this 
instance  they  had  an  especial  reason  for  keeping  quiet : 
there  was  a  singular  imputation  of  good  influences 
to  evil  agencies,  which  was  repulsive  to  them.  Mrs. 
Middleton  therefore  regretted  that  she  had  even  hinted 
at  the  subject  in  her  note,  and  was  satisfied  that  Mr. 
Meagre  did  not  allude  to  it.  This  was  all  right. 

Of  course  rumor  got  the  start  of  the  young  parson, 
and  he  found  out  what  ideas  the  people  had  of  him 
and  his  work,  as  preachers  find  out  a  great  many 
things,  by  having  them  suddenly  and  obnoxiously 
thrust  upon  his  notice. 

The  first  intimation  Rev.  Petit  had  that  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  in  league  with  the  prince  of  the  power  of 
the  air,  was  a  sort  of  Paddy's  hint.  Young  Caspar 
Lading,  who  attended  his  father's  mill,  and  lived  with 
his  little  family  in  the  basement  story  of  the  mill,  had 
a  sick  child.  As  Mabel,  Caspar's  wife,  belonged  to 
the  church,  although'she  had  not  attended  service  for 
a  long  time,  the  young  parson  thought  it  his  duty  to 
make  some  inquiries  about  her  and  her  little  one. 

He  accordingly  went,  and  after  some  difficulty 
succeeded  in  finding  the  place.  He  saw  no  person 
about  the  premises  as  he  approached,  and  yet  the 
creaking  of  an  ungreased  gudgeon  and  the  clatter  of 
the  hopper  told  him  that  the  mill  was  going,  and  he 
therefore  concluded  that  Caspar  or  some  of  his 
family  was  at  home.  If,  however,  there  were  no 


148  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

human  beings  in  sight,  there  were  still  specimens 
enough  of  other  departments  of  animated  nature  to 
illustrate  two  or  three  pictorial  histories,  if  only  a 
special  artist  had  heen  on  the  spot.  A  number  of 
swine  wandered  about,  with  their  tails  curled  and 
their  noses  on  the  ground,  in  search  of  stray  grains 
of  wheat,  while  others  were§  lying  around  as  if  too 
well  fed  or  too  lazy  to  enter  into  competition  with 
their  more  enterprising  fellows.  The  inactivity  of 
these  last  was  made  up,  however,  by  the  friskiness  of 
a  litter  of  young  pigs,  two  of  which  were  contending 
fiercely  for  a  straw.  Two  turkey  gobblers  were 
strutting  around  and  showing  their  gallantry  by 
spreading  out  their  tails,  inflating  their  red  throats 
until  they  turned  blue,  and  making  with  spasmodic 
vehemence  the  sound  which  gives  them  their  rural 
name.  A  file  of  puddle  ducks,  led  by  a  Muscovy  cap- 
tain, quacked  and  waddled  laboriously,  but  energeti- 
cally, as  if  marching  directly  to  the  dam  in  delightful 
anticipation  of  some  such  cooling  process  as  Tom 
Hickman  recommended  to  the  lovesick  elder.  Mean- 
while a  flock  of  alarmed  geese  flapped  their  wings 
and  cackled  in  apparent  effort  to  arouse  the  people 
and  save  the  city,  and  one  impudent  old  gander 
stretched  his  long  neck  and  hissed  derisively  and 
ominously  at  the  parson.  To  many  of  their  manifes- 
tations Rev.  Petit  had  long  been  accustomed.  His 
corpulent  sexton  always  gobbled,  some  of  his  male 
members  were  given  to  quacking,  and  nearly  all  the 
female  portion  of  his  people  cackled  incessantly. 


WITCHCRAFT.  149 

But  as  this  was  the  first  time  the  young  man  had  been 
hissed  since  his  entrance  into  public  life,  he  felt 
badly  enough  about  it,  especially  as  this  demonstra- 
tion of  disgust  attracted  to  him  the  attention  of  a  pair 
of  puppies  that  were  practising  Olympic  games  with 
all  nature  for  an  amphitheatre  and  a  blinkard  rooster 
for  a  spectator.  The  wrestling  instantly  ceased. 
The  victor  in  the  last  contest  stood  still  and  looked 
innocently  at  the  new-comer,  as  if  inquiring  whether 
he  were  friend  or  foe  ;  while  his  disgraced  competitor 
jumped  up,  barked  once,  and  ran  around  an  old  wheel- 
house  into  the  bushes.  The  rooster  marched  off  to 
hunt  up  the  scattered  members  of  his  domestic  estab- 
lishment, and  the  Rev.  Petit  rode  up  closer  to  the 
mill.  As,  however,  the  presence  of  the  young  dogs 
was  highly  suggestive  of  the  fact  that  the  mother 
might  not  be  far  off,  he  concluded  not  to  dismount 
until  some  one  came  to  assure  him  that  he  would  not 
be  torn  in  pieces.  A  breastwork  of  feather-beds  had 
saved  him  once,  in  which  case  the  material  employed 
was,  at  least,  as  appropriate  as  that  behind  which 
General  Jackson  was  long  supposed  to  have  been  in- 
trenched at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans^  and  now  the 
horse's  back  might  prove  to  be  the  roof  from  which 
the  kid  could  laugh  at  the  wolf. 

While  carrying  out  this  prudential  course,  an  over- 
grown boy  rode  up  to  the  mill  on  an  old  grey  mare, 
caparisoned  with  a  blind  bridle  (one  rein  of  which  was 
a  piece  of  rope)  and  an  empty  bag.  The  boy  wore  a 
pair  of  short,  tight  blue  pants,  one  boot  and  one  shoe, 
13* 


150  THE    YOU  KG    PARSON. 

a  rimless  straw  hat,  and  a  long  linsey  overcoat  with 
capes,  which  seemed  from  its  style  and  condition  to 
have  belonged  to  his  great-grandfather. 

From  this  boy  Rev.  Petit  tried  to  get  some  infor- 
mation in  regard  to  the  folks  who  lived  in  the  mill, 
but  he  was  answered  in  monosyllables  which  Noah 
Webster  himself  could  not  have  spelled,  and  which  no 
historian  could  be  expected  to  write  down  in  the  hope 
of  representing  the  sounds  uttered,  or  expressing  the 
intelligence  designed  to  be  conveyed.  Nor  did  the 
youngster  spend  much  time  with  his  reverend  ques- 
tioner. He  simply  sprawled  on  old  Whitey's  neck, 
as  if  giving  her  an  affectionate  embrace,  and  "  slid 
off"  on  one  side  of  the  beast;  then  picked  up  the  bag 
that  had  "slid  off"  with  him,  and  went  into  the  mill. 

"  If  that  boy  ever  turns  out  to  be  an  Ashland 
sage,"  thought  Mr.  Meagre,  "  I'll  turn  biographer  and 
share  his  immortality.  I  find  that  my  only  chance 
for  fame  is  to  hitch  myself  to  some  one  else,  at  any 
rate.  Have  a  notion  to  play  Boswell  to  that  insulting 
old  gander  and  the  brute  creation  generally  by  which 
I  am  surrounded.  But  what's  the  use  to  sit  here  when 
that  maternal  canine,  like  another  Dacian  mother,  may 
be  mourning  her  broken  family,  miles  away." 

Rev.  Petit,  half  ashamed  of  his  delay,  dismounted 
instantly,  and  went  to  the  door  of  what  he  took  to  be 
the  dwelling  part  of  the  mill.  He  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  know  which  door  that  was,  either,  for  a  dish- 
rag,  a  frying-pan,  and  nine  herrings  strung  through 
the  eye  on  a  ramrod,  garnished  the  wall  just  otrs'ule 


WITCHCRAFT.  151 

of  it.  "  Rather  a  small  family  this  must  he,"  solilo- 
quized he,  as  he  stood  waiting  for  an  answer  to  his 
loud  knock.  He  judged  of  this  by  the  fact  that  only 
three  of  the  fish  had  been  taken  from  the  stick,  leav- 
ing their  heads  to  show  that  the  full  complement  of 
a  dozen  had  originally  been  bought  and  hung  up 
for  use. 

The  door  at  which  Mr.  Meagre  was  knocking  was 
a  double  one,  not  like  your  double  doors  in  town,  di- 
vided up  and  down,  but  sawed  through  horizontally  in 
the  middle,  so  that  the  top  part  could  be  opened  and 
the  lower  part  left  closed.  And  in  this  instance  the 
top  part  was  opened  at  last,  although  the  lower  part 
was  left  closed  for  some  time  afterwards.  The  young 
parson  of  course  expected  to  be  admitted  without  a 
challenge,  but  Mabel,  it  appears,  was  meditating  upon 
the  line  of  policy  that  he  himself  had  adopted  before 
getting  off  the  horse.  She  too  thought  discretion  was 
the  better  part  of  valor,  and  determined  to  see  how 
far  Rev.  Petit's  admittance  would  comport  with  her 
own  safety.  She  planted  herself  between  the  parson 
and  her  child  with  that  maternal  instinct  which  leads 
a,  she-bear  to  get  between  an  enemy  and  her  cubs.  As 
she  backed  from  the  door,  and  sought  to  hide  the  whole 
cradle  by  spreading  the  skirts  of  her  dress  with  her 
hands,  the  abashed  clergyman  feared  that  he  had  in- 
terrupted her  while  she  was  dressing  the  little  thing, 
and  he  was  about  to  withdraw.  But  Mabel,  looking 
pale,  although  courageous,  cried  out  to  him,  "  Can  you 
eat  fire  ?" 


152  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

'"Me?"  asked  Mr.  Meagre,  in  utter  amazement. 
*•  Can  I  eat  fire  ?  Certainly  not.  But  why  do  you 
ask  that  question  ?" 

"  0  bekase,"  answered  the  woman ;  and  having  given 
this  satisfactory  reason,  she  asked,  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "  Can  you  make  it  snow  in  summer?" 

"  Certainly  not.  Why  do  you  ask  such  questions?  " 

"  0  bekase,"  she  again  replied. 

"Because  of  what?"  asked  the  astonished  little 
preacher.  "  Who  says  that  I,  or  any  one  else,  can 
do  such  things  ?  " 

"W'hyhis  father  —  that's  the  old  man  —  says  some 
people  can,  at  leastways  they  can  make  the  hail  come 
and  cut  the  corn  and  cabbage,  and  pelt  the  cows  and 
things  till  they  die.  We  often  pen  our  live  stock  up." 

"Nonsense,  Mrs.  Ludwig,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  indig- 
nantly ;  and  then  half  amused,  he  asked,  ''And  if  even 
this  power  were  given  to  men,  why  do  you  suspect  that 
I  have  it  and  would  use  it  ?  " 

"  Why  you  see,"  replied  Mabel,  "  Old  Minkey  Mon- 
grel was  here  yisterday  after  that  grist  of  corn  the 
doctor  said  we  should  allow  her,  and  she  said  as  how 
)ou  did  some  curus  things  to  the  old  man,  and  she 
knows  all  about  witches,  though  she  aint  none  herself." 

It  now  flashed  upon  the  young  parson's  mind  that 
these  poor  people  thought  he  had  something  to  do  with 
witchcraft.  Old  Minkey  had  given  out  the  idea,  not 
maliciously  perhaps,  but  because  she  did  not  know  any 
better ;  and  this  family,  fully  settled  in  the  general 
belief  of  such  things,  and  ever  on  the  alert  to  dc\scry 


WITCHCRAFT.  153 

some  evil  of  the  kind,  eagerly  laid  hold  of  her  sug- 
gestion and  fed  their  morbid  fancies  with  it. 

For  all  of  this  Rev.  Petit  did  not  care  a  fig,  except 
that  he  feared  it  might  prevent  him  from  doing  these 
poor  deluded  people  the  good  he  desired  to  do  them. 
Their  opinion  of  him  might  so  prejudice  them  against 
him  as  to  destroy  his  influence  with  them  as  a  Chris- 
tian minister,  and  he  was  anxious  on  that  account  to 
disabuse  their  minds,  and  yet  he  knew  how  hard  it 
would  be  to  do  this.  These  general  notions  had  grown 
with  their  growth  and  strengthened  with  their  strength, 
and  could  not  be  done  away  with  in  a  moment.  This 
would  require  the  work  of  years.  The  young  parson 
therefore  concluded  to  enter  into  no  labored  argument 
on  the  subject  at  that  time,  and  contented  himself  with 
simply  denying  the  charges  brought  against  him.  To 
this  the  woman  replied  that  witches  always  denied  that 
they  were  witches,  and  persisted  in  this,  apparently 
all  unconscious  that  she  was  impugning  her  pastor's 
veracity.  She  tried  to  satisfy  her  mind  by  putting 
questions  that  bore  upon  her  ideas  of  the  law  that 
governed  witchcraft.  "  Did  you  come  across  the 
bridge?"  she  asked. 

Here  the  youthful  parson  might  have  been  tempted, 
as  usual,  to  answer  in  the  negative,  and  thus  excite 
or  rather  confirm  suspicions,  and  then  play  all  kinds 
of  pranks  with  the  woman's  credulity  ;  but  he  remem- 
bered that  this  would  be  sinful  and  cruel,  for  the  poor 
creature  was  frightened  almost  to  death  already.  He 
therefore  obeyed  what  he  hoped  was  the  law  of  his 


154  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

nature,  and  told  the  truth.  ''Yes,  madam,"  he  said, 
"  I  came  over  the  bridge  and  crossed  the  stream  several 
times  in  coming  from  Pumbeditha  out  here." 

"  Then  it  can't  be  true ;  bekase  witches  can't  come 
further  nor  the  middle  of  the  creek,  and  besides,  his 
father — that's  the  old  man — went  up  to  the  stone  bridge 
and  marked  a  cross  on  it,  right  in  the  middle  on  the 
ground,  and  that  allers  scares  witches  back,  you  know." 

Mrs.  Ludwig's  fears  being  now  somewhat  allayed, 
she  allowed  the  little  preacher  to  come  into  the  room. 
He  found  upon  inquiry  that  the  little  child  was  get- 
ting well.  "  It  only  had  the  op-nemma,  that's  the  'go 
backs,'  "  said  Mabel,  "but  his  father — that's  the  old 
man — pow-wowed  it,  and  the  doctor  gave  it  some  stuff, 
and  now  it's  picking  up  agin." 

Mr.  Meagre  muttered  something  that  might  have 
been  construed  into  an  intimation  that  he  had  more 
faith  in  the  doctor's  stuff  than  in  the  old  man's  pow- 
wowing, and  soon  left  the  house,  or  rather  the  mill, 
much  to  the  relief  of  the  poor  mother.  As  he  rode 
away  she  called  out  to  him,  "  Don't  tell  his  father  — 
that's  the  old  man  —  you  was  here  and  I  let  you  in. 
He  said  we  shouldn't  do  it,  or  you  would  work  a  spell 
on  us." 

The  young  parson  rode  back  to  the  village,  musing 
strangely  :  he  fell  into  a  sort  of  reverie,  which  was  not 
broken  until  he  found  that  the  horse  had  brought  him 
to  Mr.  Middleton's  door  and  there  stopped.  That 
evening  he  seemed  to  be  very  much  taken  up  with  his 


WITCHCRAFT.  155 

own  thoughts.  "  What  is  the  matter  that  you  are  so 
depressed?"  asked  Mrs.  Middleton. 

"Why,"  replied  he,  "strange  doubts  have  often 
been  raised  by  people  in  regard  to  my  age  and  call- 
ing; they  have  often  asked  me  if  I  was  really  a 
preacher,  but  never  before  to-day  have  I  been  directly 
accused  of  being  a  salamander  and  a  Avizard." 

Mr.  Middleton  then  told  his  pastor  of  many  other 
things  that  had  been  said  of  him,  some  of  which 
amused  and  pained  him.  Old  Mr.  Gottlieb  the  tav- 
ern-keeper and  his  family  were  in  great  distress,  as 
they  feared  the  witches  would  again  infest  their  house, 
in  which  event  their  business  would  be  ruined.  They 
did  many  things  to  avert  such  a  calamity,  although 
half  fearful  that  their  efforts  would  prove  unavailing. 

It  is  said  that  the  Abyssinians  worshipped  the 
Devil.  Their  plea  was  that  the  Good  Being  was  too 
good  to  do  them  any  harm,  and  that  it  was  well 
enough  for  them  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  propitiate 
the  wrath  of  the  Evil  One.  From  some  such  motive 
it  was  feared  Mr.  Gottlieb  tried  to  keep  in  with  the 
young  parson.  Had  the  young  servant  of  the  Church 
made  any  request  of  the  old  man,  he  would  perhaps 
have  granted  it  with  all  the  grace  of  a  lonely  travel- 
ler who  yields  his  money  to  a  highway  robber  for  fear 
of  losing  his  life.  This  was  all  sad  enough  to  Mr. 
Meagre,  although  he  knew  that  these  superstitious 
ideas  were  confined  to  a  very  few  persons,  and  were 
too  palpable  to  do  any  extended  mischief.  As  far  as 
old  Mr.  Mongrel  was  concerned,  the  young  parson 


156  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

knew  that  he  had  far  more  to  fear  from  the  jibes  and 
jeers  of  the  poor  man's  former  companions,  but  most 
of  all  from  the  almost  demoniacal  spirit  that  some 
professing  Christians  showed  towards  one  who  was  an 
outcast  from  society,  and  therefore  adjudged  to  be  an 
outcast  from  God. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

PHARISAISM. 

"BROTHER  MIDDLETON,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,. as  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  floor  rapidly,  "  I  do  not  know 
what  these  people  think,  but  it  is  the  plain  teaching 
of  the  Bible,  and  it  is  my  only  hope  as  an  individual, 
that  the  grace  of  God  abounds  for  the  chief  of  sin- 
ners. I  cannot,  without  either  convicting  myself  of 
a  self-righteousness  that  God  will  not  approve,  or 
limiting  a  grace  that  He  has  not  limited,  and  thus 
cutting  myself  off  from  the  hope  of  salvation,  say 
that  there  is  not  as  much  mercy  for  that  unfortunate 
man  as  there  is  for  me.  It  seems  to  me  that  he  has 
been  spared  just  in  order  that  I  may  do  my  duty  to 
him  ;  and  the  events  of  this  day,  as  well  as  all  that 
people  say,  only  tend  to  fasten  the  conviction  upon 
my  mind." 

"  These  people  mean  to  reflect  upon  you  when  they 
call  him  your  disciple,"  said  Mr.  Middleton. 


PHARISAISM.  157 

"  They  think,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  "  to  insult  me  by- 
associating  him  with  me  in  the  honds  of  Christian 
brotherhood,  but  I  will  gladly  accept  the  fellowship. 
We  are  both  poor  wretches,  prisoners  of  hope,  to  be 
saved  by  the  unmerited  favor  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus. 
If  they  are  more,  let  them  thank  their  God  that  they 
are  not  like  this  publican.  '  This  man  receiveth 
sinners  and  eateth  with  them,'  was  what  was -said  in 
derision  of  my  Master.  The  servant  is  not  greater 
than  his  Lord.  I  will  labor  for  that  man,  and  if  there 
is  any  reproach  attaching  to  the  duty  I  am  willing  to 
bear  it." 

"  I  have  lived  here  a  long  time,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said 
Mr.  Middlcton,  "long  enough  to  know  the  history  of 
the  place  and  of  the  people,  and  every  one  of  those 
who  speak  so  scornfully  of  Mongrel  has  some  stain, 
not  only  upon  his  family  escutcheon,  but  upon  his 
personal  character,  which  time  has  scarcely  hidden, 
from  the  eyes  of  men." 

"  I  should  have  suspected  as  much,"  said  the  young 
parson.  *'  It  is  always  those  least  free  from  sins  who 
are  apt  to  charge  sins  to  the  account  of  others.  I 
rejoice  not  only  that  my  Saviour  took  upon  Him  my 
nature,  and  can  sympathize  with  my  infirmities,  but 
also  that  in  all  His  life  He  was  sinless.  I  want  to  be 
judged  by  perfection.  But  even  supposing  that  what 
you  say  of  these  people  were  not  true,  why  talk  about 
comparative  guilt,  when  we  all  have  enough  to  sink  us 
to  perdition,  and  when  the  least  that  the  best  of  us 
deserves  is  banishment  into  outer  darkness  ?  Why, 
14 


158  THE    YOUNG    PAKSON. 

•when  we  must  all  cry  for  mercy,  should  any  one 
attempt  to  slay  this  poor  wretch  when  grasping  the 
horns  of  the  altar  ?  " 

"  Do  your  best  for  him,"  said  Mr.  Middleton,  who 
had  now  hecome  as  much  excited  as  his  pastor.  "  Use 
the  means  God  has  given  you,  and  remember  that  His 
power  is  as  illimitable  as  His  love." 

"And  that  power  is  promised  to  me,"  said  the 
young  pastor. 

"Yes,  you  go  not  in  your  own  strength.  His 
blessing  is  pledged  to  you." 

"  I  will  go  to  see  Mongrel  again  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," said  Mr.  Meagre. 

"  I  will  stop  a  team  —  suspend  all  of  my  farming 
operations  to  furnish  you  a  horse.  I  will  go  with  you," 
remarked  Mr.  Middleton. 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Meagre,  accompanied  by 
his  elder,  visited  the  poor  man's  cabin,  and  spent  part 
of  the  forenoon  with  him.  They  found  him  sitting 
up,  but  poorly  enough.  He  was  very  petulant,  but 
they  treated  him  kindly,  and  were  not  discouraged. 

That  evening  the  young  parson  spent  in  his  own 
room.  The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  he  preached  a 
sermon — not  a  written  one,  but  nevertheless  prayed 
over  and  carefully  thought  out — on  the  parable  of  the 
Pharisee  and  the  Publican. 

Now  the  town  of  Pumbeditha  was  ornamented  by 
the  citizenship  of  an  ex  deputy  constable,  who  rejoiced 
in  the  euphonious  cognomen  of  William  Pert  Bottles. 
This  man  had  belonged  to  a  variety  of  denominations, 


PHARISAISM.  159 

and  last  of  all  to  the  Baptists.  He  had  contrived  to 
hide  his  real  character  through  these  changes,  but 
had  at  last  been  found  out,  and  had  been  expelled  from 
this  last  body  for  heresy  and  drunkenness.  He  was 
now  going  about  to  establish  a  denomination  of  his 
own,  the  main  tenets  of  which  were  to  be,  "firstly," 
that  baptism  by  immersion  was  essential  to  salvation  ; 
and  '•'•secondly,"  that  all  men  would  be  saved  even- 
tually whether  baptized  or  not.  In  short,  the  doctrines 
of  this  new  organizatipn  were  to  be  a  cross  between 
those  held  by  the  "orthodox"  Baptists  and  those 
held  by  the  Universalists.  Of  the  first  of  these 
fundamental  truths  Mr.  Bottles  was  assured  simply 
because  he  himself  had  been  baptized  by  immersion ; 
and  of  the  second  he  felt  .no  doubt,  since  man's 
sufferings  in  this  world  are  a  full  atonement  for  his 
guilt,  as  his  own  persecution  at  the  hands  of  old  Mr. 
Waters,  the  orthodox  Baptist,  fully  demonstrated. 
Thus  far  the  new  sect  was  not  very  strong  numeri- 
cally, but  was  a  unit,  and  expected  to  have  large 
accessions.  In  fact,  Mr.  Bottles  was  himself  the 
church,  and  carried  a  Testament  in  his  pocket,  from 
which  he  expected  to  prove  to  the  world  that  he  was 
right,  and  that  all  Christendom,  and  especially  the 
orthodox  Baptist  portion  of  it,  was  wrong. 

To  convince  an  unbelieving  community  that  "  Elder 
Waters  was  a  villain,"  Brother  William  Pert  had  served 
a  false  writ  upon  him,  for  which  misdemeanor  Mr. 
Bottles  was  deprived  of  his  saddle-bags  arid  big  pocket- 
book,  the  well-known  badges  of  his  office.  After  Wil- 


160  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

liam  Pert  was  thus  relieved  of  the  cares  of  State,  he 
assiduously  devoted  all  of  his  time  to  scandal ;  but  as 
he  had  not  yet  succeeded  in  demolishing  Elder  Fuller 
Hall  Waters,  he  had  not  hitherto  disturbed  Rev.  Petit 
Meagre.  But  on  the  Sunday  just  spoken  of,  the  young 
parson  must  have  been  guilty  of  some  offence  against 
Brother  Bottles's  theological  opinions,  as  the  aforesaid 
modern  reformer,  thereafter,  quoted  largely  from  the 
Epistle  to  the  Romans  to  prove  that  Meagre  said  a 
man  ought  to  sin  that  grace  might  abound.  With  the 
exception  of  Mr.  Bottles  the  people  thought  the  ser- 
mon well  timed,  and  although  there  was  of  course  no 
direct  reference  to  the  disposition  that  had  been  mani- 
fested towards  Mr.  Mongrel,  quite  a  number  of  the 
folks  showed  a  different  feeling  towards  him  after- 
wards. Still  a  few  thought  that  he  ought  not  to  go 
to  the  same  heaven  with  them,  and  these  continued  to 
laugh  at  Mr.  Meagre's  efforts  to  do  the  man  good. 

On  Monday  morning  the  young  parson  went  to  see 
the  old  man  again,  and  was  more  encouraged  than 
ever  to  repeat  his  visits.  He  found  him  in  great  con- 
cern for  his  eternal  interests,  and  was  astonished  to 
learn  how  much  he  remembered,  not  only  of  the  last 
conversation  he  had  had  with  him,  but  also  of  the  one 
held  on  the  night  of  the  first  visic  to  him.  When  Mr. 
Meagre  was  about  leaving  the  cabin,  Mr.  Mongrel 
said:  "Well,  Parson  Meagre,  if  you  really  think  that's 
true  what  you  say,  that  there  is  mercy  for  me,  I  wish 
you'd  pray  for  me  till  we  meet  next  time,  and  come  to 
see  me  and  tell  me  more  about  the  Saviour.  I  want 


MONGREL     ON     TRIAL.  161 

to  hear  more  of  these  things,  for  I  don't  know  much, 
and  would  like  to  die  *  accepted  in  the  beloved,'  as 
you  call  it.  I  do  wish  I  could  be  baptized  and  take 
communion." 

"  You  may  be  sure,"  said  the  young  parson,  "  that 
I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you,  and  I  hope  that  all  your 
wishes  will  be  gratified." 

From  that  time,  Mr.  Meagre  of  course  regarded 
Mr.  Mongrel  as  his  catechumen.  He  tried  to  instruct 
him  with  a  view  to  his  baptism  into  the  Church,  in  full 
hope  that  God  would  manifest  Himself  to  him  in  His 
word  and  sacraments,  as  He  does  not  manifest  Him- 
self unto  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MONGREL    ON    TRIAL. 

IT  has  been  truly  said  that  the  principle  of  tem- 
perance does  not  consist  in  the  scanty  supply,  but  in 
the  strong  self-restraint  —  that  man  is  not  to  be  per- 
fected by  being  kept  out  of  temptation,  but  by  being 
victorious  in  it ;  and  yet  the  fact  that  Mr.  Mongrel 
was  unable  to  get  out  to  taverns  and  other  places 
where  he  would  have  been  liable  to  temptation,  was  a 
great  advantage  to  him.  He  had  his  depraved  appe- 
tite to  contend  with,  to  be  sure,  when  at  home,  but  he 
14* 


162  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

was  kept  from  gratifying  it,  and  time  was  thus  given 
him  to  think,  to  set  his  heart  against  the  evil,  and  to 
gain  strength  from  on  high  to  overcome  in  the  dread- 
ful struggle.  In  watching  the  case,  the  young  parson 
was  glad  to  learn  that  the  old  man  ceased  to  murmur 
that  he  was  compelled  to  keep  in  the  house,  and  began 
to  be  thankful  that  he  could  not  get  out  and  increase 
his  liability  to  his  besetting  sin. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Mr.  Mongrel  began 
to  think  that  the  evil  to  which  he  was  exposed  was 
no  more  to  be  feared  —  that  he  could  stand  alone. 
This  is  no  uncommon  thing  in  man's  religious  life,  and 
the  young  parson  trembled  at  it.  and  tried  to  warn  his 
catechumen  against  it.  Sinful  self  is  said  to  be  our 
greatest  enemy,  but  righteous  self  is  to  be  dreaded 
quite  as  much.  Indeed,  when  man  thinks  he  has  over- 
come his  evil  nature,  it  has  often  only  assumed  a  dif- 
ferent phase,  even  as  Satan  often  covers  his  deformity 
with  the  garments  of  an  angel  of  light.  It  was  hard, 
however,  to  make  the  old  man  sensible  of  this.  In  a 
little  while  he  became  as  self-reliant  as  Peter,  and  even 
wished  to  court  temptation,  in  order  to  show  how  easily 
he  could  overcome  it. 

On  one  of  those  bright,  genial,  summer-like  days 
that  often  come  in  the  month  of  February,  and  betray 
inexperienced  people  into  the  idea  that  winter  is  over 
and  that  they  ought  to  make  garden,  Mr.  Meagre  was 
standing  at  the  window  in  the  end  of  Mr.  Middleton's 
house.  He  looked  up  street,  and  recognized  the  tot- 
tering form  of  Mr.  Mongrel  —  now  on  his  first  visit  to 


MONGREL     ON     TRIAL.  163 

the  village  since  prostrated  by  his  last  illness.  When 
he  came  in  front  of  the  tavern  he  stopped,  turned 
around  once  or  twice  like  one  in  indecision,  and  then 
went  into  the  bar-room. 

Without  waiting  to  get  his  hat,  coat,  or  boots,  the 
parson  ran  towards  the  tavern,  followed  the  old  man 
into  the  door,  and  got  by  his  side  just  in  time  to  grasp 
a  glass  of  rum  that  Mr.  Gottleib  had  poured  out  for 
his  former  customer.  Mr.  Mongrel,  tnkcn  aback, 
struggled  for  the  liquor  until  he  recognized  the  par- 
son, when  he  yielded  it.  although  not  -without  a  mur- 
mur. His  giant  passion,  which  had,  perhaps,  only 
been  slumbering,  seemed  to  be  fully  aroused,  and  it 
required  a  great  effort  to  overcome  it.  Perhaps  the 
old  man  would  have  had  even  more  difficulty  in  resist- 
ing the  temptation,  had  he  not  been  surprised  and 
dreadfully  frightened.  The  appearance  of  his  spirit- 
ual adviser  then  and  there  was  altogether  unexpected 
to  him,  and  the  strange  garb  in  which  the  young  pas- 
tor was  attired,  perhaps,  added  to  the  poor  man's  con- 
fusion. At  any  rate  this  queer  dross  —  a  red  velvet 
smoking-cap,  with  a  heavy  tassel  to  it,  a  flashy  silk 
morning-gown  and  embroidered  slippers,  trappings 
such  as  Rev.  Petit  had  never  been  seen  in  before  by 
Mr.  Gottleib — had  a  wonderful  effect  upon  that  super, 
stitious  old  gentleman's  imagination.  The  young  par- 
son's advent  had  been  so  sudden,  so  like  an  appari- 
tion, that  the  grey-headed  innkeeper  supposed  he  had 
corne  in  through  the  keyhole,  and  now  that  he  stood 


164  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

before  him,  clothed  in  this  fantastic  attire,  Mr.  Gott- 
leib  took  him  for  a  conjurer,  and  expected  to  see 

"Black  spirits  and  white, 
Bed  spirits  and  grey," 

come  up  out  of  the  floor,  as  if  by  the  wand  of  an  en- 
chanter. Dominie  Sampson  could  not  have  been  more 
terrified  when  Meg  Merrilies  caught  and  throttled 
him  at  the  Cairn  of  Derncleugh,  than  was  the  credu- 
lous old  vender  of  liquid  fire  at  that  moment.  All 
of  his  ideas  of  what  Rev.  Petit  was,  were  now  verified 
—  all  of  his  fears  as  to  what  Rev.  Petit  would  do,  were 
about  to  be  realized.  And  he  expressed  himself  very 
much  as  th£  good  Mr.  Sampson  did  on  the  occasion  just 
referred  to ;  that  is,  he  was  disposed  to  mutter  curses 
and  imprecations,  and  then  explain  them  away  apolo- 
getically, only  with  this  difference,  that  while  the  Dom- 
inie first  used  Latin  to  denounce  Meg.  and  then 
English  to  appease  her,  Mr.  Gottleib  tangled  up  adul- 
terated German  and  English,  already  very  much 
mixed  on  his  tongue,  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  con- 
fusion worse  confounded.  Fear  and  respect,  respect 
growing  out  of  fear,  sat  visibly  enthroned  upon  the 
old  man's  face,  as  with  uplifted  hands  he  besought 
"  Herr  Mongrel"  not  to  resist  "de  goot  porror." 
The  whole  scene  would  have  been  a  good  study  for 
Hogarth. 

With  this  combination  of  circumstances  in  his  favor, 
Rev.  Petit  had  comparatively  little  difficulty  in  lead- 
ing Mr.  Mongrel  out  of  the  house.  He  took  him  to 


MONGREL    ON    TRIAL.  165 

Mr.  Middleton's,  where  the  good  lady  gave  him  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  some  warm  food,  and  sent  him  home 
that  evening  in  the  Diligence.  The  next  day  he  was 
very  grateful  to  the  young  parson  for  what  he  had 
done,  and  never  attempted  to  play  Peter  again,  for 
fear  the  old  Simon  would  prevail. 

This  occurrence,  of  course,  gained  some  notoriety 
in  the  community.  It  would,  perhaps,  never  have 
been  heard  of  had  it  not  been  for  Mr.  Gottlieb  and  his 
family.  His  wife  and  sister-in-l;iw,  who  not  only 
wore  eel-skins  to  keep  off  "  rumatiz,"  but  some 
strangely  shaped  bits  of  wood  as  amulets  to  keep  off 
thunder,  and  which  they  u^ed  in  pow-wowing — in 
fact,  who  were  given  to  some  kind  of  fetichism — were 
peeping  through  the  crack  of  a  board  partition,  when 
Rev.  Petit  sprang  into  the  bar-room.  These  ladies 
ran  into  the  back  yard,  and  gave  the  alarm  to  two 
men  who  were  sawing  a  cord  of  wood  for  a  pint  of 
six-cent  whisky,  and  these  gentlemen,  perhaps  fear- 
ful that  the  contents  of  Mr.  Gottleib's  bottles  would  be 
spirited  away  before  they  got  their  pay,  ran  around 
in  front  of  the  house  just  in  time  to  see  the  young 
parson  leading  his  submissive  parishioner  away ;  and 
it  did  not  require  any  more  persons  than  the  Gottleib 
family  and  these  two  assistants,  to  give  the  gossip- 
loving  community  strange  accounts  of  the  whole  trans- 
action. 

Then  you  should  have  heard  the  talk  :  venerable 
topers  expressed  the  opinion  that  Meagre  was  for 
taking  away  men's  liberties  He  made  Cain  Mongrel 


166  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

follow  him  like  a  dog,  and  Mongrel  was  to  be  pitied. 
Yea,  there  was  some  talk  of  rescuing  him  from  martyr- 
dom, as  'gallant  knights  in  the  olden  time  had  rescued 
fair  ladies  from  baronial  castles,  and  then  poor  down- 
trodden priest-ridden  humanity  might  get  as  drunk 
as  it  pleased. 

A  part  of  the  religious  community  thought  it  a  sin 
to  force  a  man  into  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  against 
his  will,  and  of  this  sin  Meagre  was  guilty.  They  knew 
there  was  nothing  genuine  about  Mongrel's  reform, 
for  he  had  always  been  a  disgrace  to  the  community. 
All  of  this  talk,  however,  did  not  abate  the  young 
parson's  zeal.  What  he  cared  for  most,  was  the  fact 
that  these  people  saw  the  point  upon  which  Mr.  Mon- 
grel was  most  liable  to  temptation,  and,  God  forgive 
them  !  they  tried  to  make  use  of  it  for  his  destruction. 
When  they  saw  that  he  was  able  at  last  to  pass  the 
tavern,  they  tried  to  spring  mines  under  him,  that  he 
might  be  overtaken  in  a  fault.  Once  when  "Old 
Cain,"  as  they  called  him,  was  expected  to  pass  by  a 
certain  point  in  the  road,  some  young  men  came  out 
from  behind  a  hay-stack,  and  shook  a  flask  of  whisky 
under  his  nose,  and  then  tried  to  induce  him  to  drink, 
even  threatening  to  pour  it  down  his  throat.  No  one, 
perhaps,  knew  the  ordeal  through  which  that  aged 
novice  had  to  pass,  and  yet  he  braved  his  tempters, 
and  came  out  of  the  fire  unscorched.  He  reported 
this  act  to  Mr.  Meagre,  whose  indignation  led  him  to 
hunt  up  the  offenders,  and  give  them  such  a  lecture 
as  he  had  never  given  to  any  mortal  man.  The  ex- 


MONGREL    ON    TRIAL.  167 

case  offered  for  it  was,  that  Bill  Bottles,  Tom  Jeffer- 
son, Mrs.  Pugnose,  and  Mrs.  Spotters  told  them  to  do 
it  just  for  a  joke.  These  persons  all  prided  them- 
selves upon  -their  piety,  but  their  piety  never  mani- 
fested itself  just  in  that  particular  way  afterwards,  as 
they  were  all  a  little  afraid  of  raising  a  bee  about 
their  ears.  They  therefore  contented  themselves  with 
sneering,  and  protesting  that  they  were  not  afraid 
of  Meagre,  in  such  a  way  as  to  convince  every  one 
that  they  were  afraid  of  him. 

As  for  old  Mr.  Gottlieb,  he  was  perfectly  cured.  A 
wag  told  him  that,  if  ever  he  set  out  a  bottle  before  Mon- 
grel again,  Meagre  would  come  over,  describe  a  circle 
on  the  bar-room  floor  with  a  piece  of  chalk,  mark  it 
off  with  the  twelve  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  then  take  down 
a  billiard  stick,  strike  three  times  on  the  boards,  say 
some  Latin,  and  bring  up  the  Author  of  all  Evil, 
hoofs,  tail,  horns,  pitchfork  and  all — a  declaration  that 
said  wag  explained  away  to  others  by  stating  that  it 
was  only  an  impressive  way  of  enlarging  upon  the 
saying,  u  He  will  raise  old  Nick."  And  thereafter 
tremulous  fear  made  Gottlieb  exceedingly  circumspect. 

One  day  Mr.  Mongrel  came  to  the  young  parson  in 
a  very  despondent  mood.  "  You  must  not  think  hard 
of  me,"  he  said,  "bekase  I  trouble  you  so  much.  I 
have  a  good  deal  to  contend  agin,  and  no  one  cares 
for  me  but  you." 

"  I  am  always  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Mr.  Meagre, 
"  you  cannot  come  too  often.  I  feel  a  great  interest 
in  you.  Let  me  tell  you,  too,  that  you  are  mistaken 


168  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

in  supposing  that  I  am  the  only  one  that  cares  for 
you.  There  are  many  others  who  are  watching  you 
with  solicitude.  The  only  difficulty  is  that  they  do 
not  show  their  anxiety  to  you,  but  even  that  fault  will 
be  mended,  as  you  will  find.  I  will  see  to  that  mat- 
ter, for  you  need  encouragement.  As  for  the  few 
who  try  to  work  against  you,  you  must  not  mind 
them." 

"Some  of  these  fellers."  said  he,  "begrudge  hu- 
.man  natur'  a  salvation  that  can  reach  a  poor  wretch 
like  me,  and  take  me  up." 

This  expression  was  one  of  the  most  affecting  Mr. 
Meagre  had  ever  heard.  Poor  Mongrel's  heart  seemed 
ready  to  break  when  he  uttered  it.  He  sobbed  like  a 
child,  and  his  whole  frame  was  convulsed  by  the  throes 
of  an  inward  agony.  The  young  parson  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  old  man's  head,  and  as  he  smoothed  his  thin 
white  hair  spoke  to  him  kindly.  He  reminded  him 
of  the  parable  of  the  one  lost  sheep,  which  had  not 
been  forgotten  since  their  first  interview.  "  Do  not 
fear,"  he  said,  "  God  and  the  holy  angels  and  all  good 
men  are  for  you,  and  you  will  conquer  and  more  than 
conquer  through  Him  that  loved  you  and  gave  Him- 
self for  you." 

They  then  kneeled  down,  and  prayed  long  and  ear- 
nestly together,  and  when  they  rose  up  a  calm,  sweet 
joy  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the  poor  man's  heart, 
and  hushed  the  storm  that  had  raged  there,  as  though 
the  serene  One  had  said,  "Peace,  be  still." 


MONGREL    ON    TRIAL.  169 

"Mr.  Meagre,"  said  he,  "you  don't  believe  in  bad 
BJ  irits,  do  you?" 

"Yes  I  do,"  said  the  parson.  "If  there  are  good 
angels,  we  may  well  believe  that  there  are  bad  ones." 

"  Then  you  believe  in  witches,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly  about  that,"  was  the  reply. 
"  There  are  a  great  many  things  that  some  people 
about  here  and  elsewhere  profess  to  have  seen  and 
heard,  which  may  be  only  imaginary,  but  I  often 
think  that  there  are  real  evil  agencies  at  the  bottom 
of  them.  Strange  things  have  occurred  since  sin 
came  into  the  world.  If  brought  about  by  a  power 
greater  than  that  given  to  man,  they  must  be  either 
from  God  or  the  Devil,  and  I  very  much  fear  that 
they  are  from  the  latter.  All  this  only  goes  to  show 
how  men  have  allowed  evil  to  prevail  in  their  hearts. 
If  the  Holy  Spirit  dwelt  in  them,  we  would  have 
nothing  of  this." 

"  The  reason  I  asked  you,"  said  the  old  man,  "was 
that  I  think  if  ever  a  man  was  possessed  of  the  Devil, 
as  you  read  in  the  good  book,  it  was  me.  Some  say 
it  was  bad  licker,  and  the  Devil  might  have  been  in 
the  licker,  but  it  was  the  Devil  still.  Reckon  he 
thought,  if  he  got  you  out  of  the  way,  he'd  be  certain 
of  me,  for  he  tempted  me  to  kill  you.  I  dreamed  of 
it  when  I  was  asleep,  and  talked  about  it  when  I  was 
awake,  and  that  Mink  and  Madge  can  tell  you." 

"Mink  told  other  people  about  it,  Mr.  Mongrel," 
said  the  parson,  "  and  made  them  think  that  I  had 
gotten  the  evil  out  of  you  by  some  black  art.  I  can 
15 


170  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

now  understand  how  the  poor  woman  took  up  these 
strange  ideas.  But  if  the  Evil  One  was  in  you,  and 
is  now  cast  out,  you  must  give  all  the  thanks  to  Him 
who  came  to  destroy  the  works  of  the  Devil.  And 
remember  that  your  only  hope  is  in  the  fact,  that  the 
contest  now  is  between  God  and  Satan.  It  is  God 
that  worketh  in  you  to  will  and  to  do  of  His  good 
pleasure." 

When  Mr.  Mongrel  started  home  the  young  parson 
walked  with  him  half  of  the  way,  and  then  stood  on 
a  hill-top,  watching  him  and  following  him  with  a 
prayer,  until  with  tottering  step  he  entered  his  cabin. 
The  pastor's  visits  to  the  old  man  were  more  frequent 
after  this  than  they  had  ever  been  before.  The 
attention  of  Christian  people  in  the  neighborhood  was 
also  directed  to  him,  and  poor  Cain  received  many 
kind  words  of  encouragement. 

Some  months  had  now  passed  since  the  first  visit 
to  the  hovel,  during  which  time  the  poor  man  had 
been  instructed  with  a  view  to  his  baptism.  In  two 
weeks  that  sacrament  was  to  be  administered  to  him, 
and  then  he  was  to  be  admitted  to  full  communion  of 
the  church.  But  just  one  week  before  the  time  when 
the  Holy  Euchafist  was  to  be  celebrated  by  the  con- 
gregation, the  poor  man  was  taken  suddenly  ill,  and 
it  was  thought  that  he  could  not  survive.  It  was  at 
least  evident  that  he  could'  not  get  to  the  church  to 
be  baptized  and  confirmed  with  the  other  catechu- 
mens. Under  these  circumstances,  it  was  determined 
that  he  should  have  clinical  baptism.  At  the  ap- 


MONGREL'S  DEATH.  171 

pointed  time  Mr.  Meagre  and  his  elders  assembled 
in  the  cabin.  And  there,  on  that  bright  spring  morn- 
ing, old  Cain  Mongrel  professed  aloud  his  faith,  as 
expressed  in  the  Apostles'  Creed ;  after  which  he  was 
baptized  in  the  name  of  the  Triune  God,  and  then 
received  the  sacrament  of  the  body  and  blood  of  our 
Saviour.  That  evening,  just  as  the  sun  was  setting, 
his  spirit  passed  into  the  eternal  world.  Mr.  Meagre 
and  Mr.  Middleton  stayed  with  him  until  he  died. 
His  last  words  were,  "I believe;  Lord,  help  thoumine 
unbelief." 

After  making  some  arrangements  with  the  neigh- 
bors for  the  funeral,  the  pastor  and  his  elders  rode 
back  home.  Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  on  the  way, 
and  yet  they  were  not  sad.  Indeed,  a  calm  joy  was 
visible  on  their  countenances.  The  young  pastor  felt 
that  his  labors  in  Pumbeditha  had  not  been  in  vain, 
and  that  night  at  family  worship  there  went  up  the 
song,  "Not  unto  us,  0  Lord,  not  unto  us,  but  unto 
Thy  name  give  glory." 

The  history  of  poor  Mr.  Mongrel  had  a  wonderful 
effect  upon  the  young  parson's  mind.  He  determined 
by  the  help  of  God  to  labor  more  than  ever  among 
the  lowly,  and  learned  never  to  falter  in  his  work 
because  of  discouraging  appearances,  nor  yet  to  at- 
tempt to  estimate  the  results  of  the  Spirit's  influence 
in  the  case  of  particular  persons  by  mere  human  prob- 
abilities. Around  him  were  those  whom  he  had  ex- 
pected would  have  made  a  public  confession  of  Christ 
before  this,  and  they  lingered  in  the  outer  legal  vesti- 


172  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

bule,  while  this  poor  outcast  from  men,  simply  trust- 
ing in  sovereign  grace,  had,  as  it  was  hoped,  passed 
through  the  veil  into  the  inner  sanctuary  of  God. 
Often  —  often  in  after  years,  when  his  heart  almost 
sank  within  him,  did  the  words  repeated  in  his  ears 
by  Mr.  Middleton  come  to  the  young  preacher's 
mind,  and  encourage  him  to  put  forth  the  renewed 
effort :  "  In  the  morning  sow  thy  seed,  and  in  the 
evening  withhold  not  thy  hand,  for  thou  knowest  not 
whether  shall  prosper  either  this  or  that,  or  whether 
both  shall  be  alike  good." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"US    MINISTERS"  — THE    MODERN    MARTYR. 

WHILE  Mr.  Bottles,  "  the  universal  Salvationist," 
•was  spending  his  time  and  breath  in  laudable  efforts 
to  convince  the  public  that  Mr.  Meagre  did  not  preach 
sound  doctrine  when  he  said  that  grace  abounded  for 
the  chief  of  sinners,  another  bright  idea  took  posses- 
sion of  his  brain.  He  declared  that  the  young  parson 
sinned  by  going  near  old  Cain  Mongrel,  for  the  Bible 
said  a  mark  had  been  put  on  him  that  all  men  might 
know  and  avoid  him.  The  passage  in  proof  was  sup- 
posed by  Mr.  Bottles  to  be  in  the  Revelation  of  St. 
John  ;  but  being  challenged  to  quote  it  one  night  in  a 


"US     MINISTERS."  173 

drinking  saloon,  he  failed  to  show  anything  there  that 
had  special  reference  to  Cain.  So  the  next  day  he 
inquired  of  a  good  old  lady  who  read  the  Scriptures  a 
great  deal,  "Where  the  Bible  told  about  the  first 
murderer  ?  "  and  being  properly  informed,  he  thereafter 
explained  part  of  the  fourth  chapter  of  Genesis  as  a 
prophecy  having  direct  and  undoubted  reference  to 
Mr.  Mongrel.  The  fact  that  the  mark  put  upon  the 
Cain  there  mentioned  was  in  order  to  his  preserva- 
tion—  "lest  any  finding  him  should  kill  him" — Mr. 
Bottles  explained  as  a  "  figger  of  speech.  The  Scrip- 
tures sometimes  go  by  contraries,  as  every  expositioner 
knows." 

The  "horrible  truth"  about  Mr.  Cain,  as  Rev. 
William  called  it,  failed,  however,  to  attract  any 
members  to  the  "  new  ark  of  safety"  that  he  had 
built.  Indeed,  this  great  theologian  was  told  by  sev- 
eral store-box  sages  who  usually  composed  his  audi- 
ences, that  he  was  a  "downright  goose,"  which  com- 
pliment he  took  as  a  part  of  the  persecution  called  forth 
by  his  eminent  abilities. 

A  truly  great  man  never  stands  too  much  on  his 
dignity,  and  in  this  respect  Mr.  Bottles  strove  to  show 
himself  a  truly  great  man.  Mr.  Meagre  had  never 
been  introduced  to  him  formally,  and  he  had  only 
that  free-and-easy  speaking  acquaintance  with  him 
which  any  one  attains  to  who  frequents  a  village,  and 
meets  the  principal  citizens  from  time  to  time  upon 
the  streets.  In  short,  the  young  parson  simply  knew 
•  Mr.  Bottles  by  sight  and  reputation :  he  had  been 
15* 


174  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

pointed  out  to  him  as  one  of  the  Christian  philanthro- 
pists who  had  conceived  the  laudable  purpose  of  try- 
ing old  Mr.  Mongrel's  powers  of  resistance  by  sud- 
denly putting  a  bottle  of  whisky  to  his  mouth.  When 
Rev.  Petit  passed  Rev.  William  on  the  streets,  the  last- 
named  brother  usually  acted  like  a  child  "  anxious  to 
show  himself."  He  either  commenced  to  talk  very 
loudly  to  some  one,  or  to  walk  very  rapidly,  as  if  all 
creation  were  waiting  upon  him ;  and  once  or  twice, 
when  engaged  in  enlightening  some  topers  in  front  of 
a  tavern,  he  assumed  bodily  attitudes  which  would 
have  led  a  credulous  man  to  suppose  that  he  was 
about  to  solve  and  demonstrate  the  grand  problem  of 
human  perfectibility.  On  these  occasions  the  young 
parson  usually  acknowledged  his  recognition  with  a 
bow  and  sometimes  with  a  smile. 

It  was  not  long,  however,  before  Mr.  Bottles  called 
on  Mr.  Meagre.  He  blustered  into  .Mr.  Middleton's 
room  one  day  after  dinner,  while  the  young  parson 
was  quietly  enjoying  his  cigar. 

"Rev.  Mr.  Meagre,  I  persume  ?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  youthful  preacher. 

"  I  am  Rev.  William  P.  Bottles,"  said  the  visitor, 
"  and  I  have  just  came  to  see  you  once.  Didn't  know 
ef  it  was  my  place  or  your'n  to  come  fust;  but  I  ain't 
formal  myself,  and  considered  as  how  I  would  break 
through  the  meshes  by  which  society  is  interlaced. 
I  don't  think  us  ministers  oughter  stand  on  dignity." 

"  Take  a  seat,  sir,"  said  the  young  parson,  rising 
courteously.  "  Have  a  cigar  ?  " 


"US    MINISTERS."  175 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Bottles,  taking  one  that  was 
offered  to  him  and  biting  off  the  end  of  it,  "  it  is 
'stonishin'  how  us  ministers  is  given  to  smokin',  but 
still  it's  a  pleasant  way  to  waste  away  one's  time 
when  we  is  studyin'  deep  questions  of  human  religion, 
or  holding  interlucatory  conversation  as  perfessional 
brethring." 

"It  is  a  bad  practice,"  said  Rev.  Petit  dryly. 

At  this  point  Mr.  Middleton  entered.  "  How  are 
you,  Bill  ?  "  asked  he,  half  astonished  and  half  amused 
at  Mr.  Bottles's  presence  and  complacency. 

Mr.  Bottles  looked  "  taken  down  "  when  Mr.  Middle- 
ton  called  him  "  Bill  "  before  the  strange  professional 
brother,  but  covered  up  the  indignity  in  the  best  way 
he  could.  "How  are  you,  Brother  Middleton?"  said 
he.  "  I  just  called  on  Mr.  Meagre  for  the  fust  time. 
Was  just  say  in'  us  ministers  ought  to  observe  the  law 
of  sociabilitilness.  It  sets  a  good  example  to  our 
flocks" 

"  Have  you  a  large  flock,  Bill  ? "  asked  Mr.  Mid- 
dleton, looking  out  of  the  window,  and  picking  his 
teeth  with  a  quill. 

"Not  very,  Brother  Middleton,"  said  Mr.  Bottles. 
"  Only  me  and  my  wife  as  yit.  She  jined  the  last 
camp-meetin'  I  had,  or  rather  last  bush-mcetm' '.  We 
had  no  tents,  only  one  to  supply  the  multitude  with 
loaves  and  fishes,  like  we're  commanded  to  do  in  the 
good  book.  We'd  had  much  larger  additions,  but  it 
set  in  to  rain  the  fust  day,  and  the  boys  upset  the 
table  of  the  money-changers  like  the  Pharisees  of  old, 


176  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

and  my  wife  —  that's  Mrs.  Bottles,  Mr.  Meagre  —  got 
excited,  and  we  had  to  break  up.  We  'spec'  to  have 
another  meetin'  soon,  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Huber  'ill 
jine,  if  we  can  form  a  partnership  by  'sociatm'  a 
little  bisness  with  our  labor  of  love  in  doin'  good  for 
souls." 

Mr.  Middleton  left  the  room  about  this  time,  and 
the  young  parson  suspected  that  he  went  out  to  laugh. 

"  Did  you  ever  notice,"  resumed  Mr.  Bottles,  when 
they  were  left  alone,  "  that  us  ministers  have  a  great 
deal  to  contend  agin  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir."  said  Mr.  Meagre. 

"  You  noticed  just  now  how  as  Mr.  Middleton 
called  me  '  Bill.'  It  seemed  like  as  if  he  had  no  re- 
spect for  the  perfession,  but  then  he's  'scusable.  I 
used  to  work  for  him,  and  he  kind  of  know'd  me ; 
that  is,  I  used  to  practise  in  his  family  long  ago  when 
I  follered  docterin',  and  then  they  allers  called  me 
Bill." 

"Were  you  a  physician  once?"  inquired  Rev. 
Petit. 

"  Yes ;  I  paid  speshul  'tention  to  bosses,  and  Mr. 
Middleton  'ployed  me  two  days  on  the  'cashun  of 
rubbin'  that  fine  sorrel  pony  that  got  sick  after  Rev. 
Brother  Gallopaway  borrowed  him.  I  give  him  some 
stuff  that  Dr.  Arlington  mixed  up  in  a  black  bottle 
for  him.  Me  and  Dr.  Arlington  was  partners  in  that 
case.  He  perscribed  and  I  'ministered  the  dose,  and 
Mr.  Middleton  give  me  two  dollars  and  a  half  when 
the  pony  got  well.  Dr.  Arlington  laughed  when  he 


"US     MINISTERS ."  177 

axed  him  how  much  Tie  charged,  and  said  he  would 
put  it  in  the  bill  when  he  charged  fur  the  rest  of  the 
family  docterin'.  You  see,  Mrs.  Middleton  was  very 
low  that  summer,  and  the  old  doctor  tuck  great  inter- 
est in  her  and  cured  her.  And  as  I  was  sayin', 
that's  the  way  me  and  Brother  Middleton  got  so  inti- 
mate. I  don't  mind  him,  and  often  call  him  Melville 
behind  his  back.  That's  his  fust  name,  you  know." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know  that  is  his  first  name." 

"What  bothers  me  most,  Brother  Meagre,  is  the 
way  the  boys  act  at  our  meetins.  They  aint  got  no 
respect  for  the  cloth.  Tha^  even  throw'd  corks  and 
whole  ginger-cakes  at  me  when  I  was  speakin',  and 
said  me  and  my  wife  was  the  biggest  bottles  they 
ever  saw.  You  see  they  was  making  fun  of  our 
names.  Onst  I  was  just  sayin'  I  had  an  important 
pint  in  view,  and  one  of  tho  ignoramuses  asked  what 
kind  of  a  pint  it  was  ?  and  when  I  said  it  was  a  wheel 
within  a  wheel,  one  of  them  pulled  a  flask  out  of  my 
pocket  that  had  a  little  licker  in  it  for  medicine  pup- 
poses,  and  they  said  it  was  a  pint  bottle  found  on  a 
bottle.  There  is  no  tellin'  how  much  good  was  per- 
vcntcd  at  that  meetin'." 

"I  suppose  not,"  quoth  Rev.  Petit. 

"  No,  indeed,"  quoth  Mr.  Bottles.  "  Why,  Brother 
Meagre,  there  was  a  feller  named  Tom  Hickman 
down  here  from  Gainfield  that  day,  that  was  'most 
converted.  Fact  is,  he  told  me  so.  When  the  row 
commenced  he  axed  to  hear  thafargement  agin ;  and 
when  I  had  finished  the  retrospectin'  view  of  the  s§r- 


178  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

rnon  of  the  'casion,  he  slapped  me  on  the  shoulder 
commendatively,  and  said  it  was  a  powerful  effort,  and 
while  we  was  conversing  that  Ike  Whinny  that  was 
with  him  knocked  off  my  hat  —  you  know  I  preached 
with  it  on  —  and  out  came  a  deck  of  cards  that  I  took 
from  a  parcel  of  fellers,  and  then  they  was  a  big  time. 
And,  indeed,  it  was  funny  that  them  two  things  —  a 
bottle  and  a  pack  of  cards  —  should  be  found  on  a 
preacher.  Some  of  the  boys  portended  to  believe  I 
had  used  them,  but  Mr.  Hickman  said  it  was  a  shame 
to  disturb  a  meetin'  that  way,  and  slander  a  pious 
man.  Howsomever,  he  mid  it  did  him  good  for  him 
to  be  there,  and  he  was  comin'  next  time  we  had  big 
meetin'  to  give  in  his  'sperience,  and  you  know  you 
said  in  your  most  excellent  sermon  last  time  you  was 
here,  no,  it  was  when  the  sainted  Mr.  Mongrel  died, 
that  one  soul  was  worth  a  rite  good  deal.  But  don't 
you  think  all  of  us  ministers  ought  to  jine  in  and  put 
the  boys  down  ?  /  think  we  ought  to  have  a  world's 
convention  of  the  perfession  to  bear  testimony." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  young  p;irson,  "  that  the 
boys. have  behaved  badly,  but  they  have  never  dis- 
turbed me.  Once  or  twice  some  of  them  have 
whispered  during  service,  but  as  a  general  thing  they 
are  respectful  and  apparently  attentive  when  they 
come  to  our  church.  And  I  think  this  is  the  case, 
too,  in  all  of  the  regular  churches.  I  am  inclined  to 
believe  that  your  bush-meetings  only  invite  the  bovs 
to  rowdyism."  * 
.  "  Well,  Mr.  Meagre,  I  reckon  the  difference  be- 


"US    MINISTERS."  179 

tween  me  and  all  the  other  ministers  is,  that  when  I 
was  in  the  legal  perfession,  I  put  the  screws  to  the 
boys  too  hard." 

"  Then  you  were  a  lawyer  too,  were  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  but  I  give  it  up  after  me  and  old  Waters 
had  that  fuss.  I  was  disgusted,  and  so  I  thought  I'd 
seek  a  sanctuary  in  the  ark  of  the  ministry.  And, 
indeed,  the  charm  was  a  great  gratification  to  me. 
My  better  half  said  she  noticed  the  difference  in  me 
directly  I  put  on  a  white  cravat.  I  believe  in  white 
cravats,  even  if  old  Waters  does  disgrace  his'n.  Us 
ministers  ought  to  have  some  badge  of  distinction. 
But  the  perfession  has  its  trials  and  mighty  conflicts. 
Me  and  you  knows  about  that  by  our  own  experience, 
Mr.  Meagre  ;  but  still  I  hope  this  great  public  contro- 
versy between  me  and  you  will  be  carried  on  in  the 
right  spirit." 

"  What  controversy  ?  "  asked  Rev.  Petit  in  surprise. 

"  Why,  bless  your  soul,  Brother  Meagre,"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Bottles,  "  this  community  has  been  shook  to  its 
very  centre  about  the  different  sentiments  me  and  you 
holds  on  certain  pints,  and  the  people's  a  takin'  sides 
all  over  the  country." 

"  Mr.  Bottles,"  said  the  young  parson,  coolly,  "that 
is  all  nonsense.  I  never  had  and  never  can  have  any 
controversy  with  you.  And  I  do  not  think  the  com- 
munity is  as  much  disturbed  by  some  things  as  you 
suppose." 

"I  am  glad,"  replied  Mr.  Bottles,  "to  hear  you 
utter  such  observations.  I  am  ready  to  compromise 


180  THE    YOUNG    PAKSON. 

the  truth  with  anybody  'cept  the  Catholics,  and  old 
Waters,  of  course.  I'll  remember  him,  and  hate  him 
in  the  other  world." 

"  I  don't  think,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "  that  the  truth 
would  suffer  much  if  you  would  compromise  or  even 
sacrifice  what  I  understand  to  be  your  theories." 

"'Zactly  so,  Brother  Meagre,"  said  Mr.  Bottles. 
"  You  always  did  state  the  truth  translucently.    Now, 
since  we  agree  so  well,  oughtn't  we  as  brethring  to  go 
on  one  another's  pulpits,  and  even  change  pulpits  at 
times?     My  flock  would  be  glad  to  hear  you." 
"Have  you  a  pulpit?"  asked  Mr.  Meagre. 
"Not  yit,"  answered  Mr.  Bottles,  "but  I  'spect  to 
git  one." 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  parson,  "  even  when  you 
do  get  one,  I  would  advise  you  not  to  depend  on  me 
for  exchanges.  You  know  I  have  peculiar  notions  on 
that  subject." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,  Brother  Meagre.  I  couldn't 
'spect  you  to  do  it,  for  I  know  you  wouldn't  do  it  with 
the  New  Methodists  when  they  had  a  fuss  with  the 
reg'lar  preacher,  and  broke  off  from  the  old  Confer- 
ence. But  I  must  go.  Good  evening,  Mr.  Meagre. 
I  'spect  I  can  send  you  an  app'intment  to  give  out, 
can't  I  ?  " 

"  0  yes,  Mr.  Bottles,  you  can  send  one,  but  " 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Meagre.     Good-bye." 

"I  can  call  spirits  from  the  vasty  deep," 
said  Mr.  Middleton,  from  the  adjoining  room. 


"US    MINISTERS."  181 

"  Why,  so  can  I ;  or  so  can  any  man ; 
But  will  they  come  when  you  do  call  for  them  ?  " 

said  the  young  parson. 

"  Mr.  Bottles  can  send  his  appointment,"  said  the 
good  brother,  "  but  will  you  read  it  ?  That's  the  ques- 
tion." 

"Not  much  of  a  question  either,"  said  the  young 
clergyman. 

The  next  Sunday  morning  Mr.  Bottles  did  send, 
with  the  request  that  it  should  be  read  from  the  pulpit, 
the  following 


NOATIS: 

reverend  William  pert  bottles  late  of  the  medikill  and 
legull  perfeshuns  orther  uv  the  pure  scripture  santes  and 
universal  salvashun  seckt  Wil  hole  fourth  at  hubers  blac 
Smith  Schop  nere  arlingtons  Wudes  this  aftarnune  at  3 
clock  in  the  aftarnune  Wen  the  evils  of  the  relijus  woarld 
Wil  b  korrected  opperchunite  Wil  be  given  to  Jine  the 
meetin  after  meetin  is  over,  this  congergashun  is  invited 
too  tend. .  frunt  ceats  reservd  fur  the  ladis.  ole  waters 
argemints  agin  me  Wil  be  tuk  notis  of  cum  won,  cum  Al 
this  roc  shall  fli  frum  it  firm  bacis  sune  as  I  william  pert 
bottles  a  kollection  will  be  tuk  up  on  the  casion  fur  the 
spences  of  the  casion  my  Wif  and  missus  huber  will  have 
kaiks  and  bear  and  lemen  aid  an  grown  nuts  fur  sail  no 
other  huxters  loud  on  the  grouns  note  bene  them  fellers 
that  noes  the  ministers  hat  of  and  puls  his  cote  Tale,  and 
thros  korks  and  ginger  kaiks  at  him  will  be  sude  cording  to 
la  a  convert  from  gainfeeld  will  give  in  his  sperience  on  the 
solem  casion. 

16 


182  THE    YOUNG    PAKSON. 

Of  course  the  young  parson  did  not  read  this  no- 
tice. He  put  it  in  his  pocket,  to  be  used  as  a  sauce 
to  some  literary  hodge-podge  that  he  had  promised 
himself  on  Monday.  It  appears  that  Mr.  Bottles  had 
written  to  Tom  Hickman  that  he  was  to  have  meeting 
that  day,  and  Tom  came  to  Pumbeditha,  but  instead 
of  going  to  Huber's  blacksmith  shop,  he  attended 
the  five  o'clock  service  in  Mr.  Meagre's  church.  Rev. 
Petit  saw  him  come  in  and  take  a  back  seat,  and  was 
glad  enough  of  it.  Mr.  Bottles,  however,  went  to  his 
appointment  with  his  wife  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Huber, 
in  a  one  horse  white-covered  wagon,  expecting  to  see 
a  large  crowd ;  but  those  who  went  with  him,  and  an 
old  negro  who  acted  as  sexton,  were  the  only  persons 
there.  This  was"  a  disappointment,  as  a  large  and 
handsome  assortment  of  cakes  and  beer  had  been  pre- 
pared, and  the  proprietors  of  the  establishment  ex- 
pected to  do  a  sharp  business,  even  if  the  evils  of  the 
religious  world  were  not  corrected. 

The  Pure  Scripture  Saints  and  Universal  Salvation 
Sect  waited  patiently  for  the  people  to  come,  until 
half-past  four  o'clock,  when  the  society  got  into  a 
towering  passion.  The  reverend  author  of  this  new 
church  was  guilty  of  using  language  that  would  have 
been  considered  profane  in  the  mouth  of  a  layman; 
and  leaving  the  wagon  in  the  care  of  his  friends,  he 
walked  to  town  in  advance  to  inquire  into  the  cause 
of  this  neglect.  The  mystery  was  solved  when  he 
found  out  that  his  professional  brother  had  not  given 


"US    MINISTERS."  183 

out  his  notice  —  a  piece  of  meanness  that  was  to  be 
attributed  to  jealousy.  And  when  he  saw  the  young 
parson  come  out  of  church  and  speak  to  Tom  Hick- 
man,  he  knew  that  there  had  be«n  a  wicked  attempt 
to  proselyte  his  members.  But  Mr.  Meagre  was  not 
deterred  from  taking  Mr.  Hickman  by  the  hand,  and 
expressing  his  delight  at  seeing  him  in  church. 

"You  may  thank  Mike  Stoner  for  it,"  said  Tom. 
"  I  was  comin'  down  here  just  to  cut  up  at  a  bush- 
meetin',  but  Mike  give  me  fits  just  as  I  was  leavin' 
Gainfield,  and  said  I  ought  to  tend  your  meetin'  if  I 
come  to  Pumbeditha.  I  tuck  his  advice,  and  I  am 
not  sorry  for  it.  I  hated  to  begin  tendin'  meetin'  at 
home,  and  thought  I  might  get  a  little  used  to  it 
here.  It  don't  go  so  bad  neither,  and  I  think  I  will 
tend  regular  at  home  now." 

"Do,  Tom,"  said  the  young  parson,  "and  may 
God  bless  you.  If  I  can  do  anything  for  you,  it  will 
afford  me  pleasure." 

Mr. William  Pert  Bottles  tried  hard  to  get  an  inter- 
view with  his  "  old  and  valuable  friend,  Mr.  Hick- 
man," but  failed.  For  tljis,  of  course,  Rev.  Petit 
Meagre  was  to  blame,  and  Brother  Bottles  vowed 
vengeance:  "  I  can  steal  sheep  too,  and  Meagre  won't 
have  many  in  his  flock  the  next  time  he  comes  to 
Pumbeditha,"  he  said ;  but  before  the  young  parson's 
next  visit  to  his  people  in  that  place,  his  Brother 
Bottles  had  stolen  a  pig,  perhaps  as  a  sort  of  fantasia 
voluntary  to  get  himself  in  tune  for  the  work  of 


184  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

stealing  sheep,  to  which,  as  a  true  founder  of  a  sect, 
he  found  himself  sacredly  called;  or,  perhaps,  under 
the  promptings  of  a  too  ardent  Donatistic  impulse,  at 
.  once  to  separate  the  herd  from  the  flock.  The  result 
of  this  movement  was  that  he  found  it  necessary  to 
leave  the  neighborhood  between  two  days.  He  and 
his  amiable  spouse  and  co-worker  departed  one  night 
in  the  white-covered  wagon,  and  both  turned  up  in  an 
Ohio  jail  a  year  afterwards,  for  no  greater  offence, 
however,  than  trying  to  "scratch  out  each  other's 
eyes  out,"  probably  in  the  attempt  of  the  pastor  to 
administer  the  discipline  of  his  new  church  without 
the  consent  of  the  congregation,  to  wit,  of  Mrs.  Bot- 
tles. For  this  incarceration  Mr.  Bottles  did  not  care, 
as  it  saved  him  the  trouble  of  providing  for  himself. 
But  he  was  awfully  provoked  when  the  Baptist  asso- 
ciation met  at  Queenopolis,  and  Mr.  Waters  being  in 
attendance,  was  invited  with  that  body  to  visit  the 
prison,  and  found  him  there.  The  caged  brother,  who 
had  vowed  that  he  would  remember  Mr.  Waters  in  the 
next  world,  seemed  desirous  to  forget  him  in  this  one ; 
he  tried  to  extemporize  an  "alias,"  but  failed,  and 
had  to  content  himself  with  shaking  his  fist  through 
the  bars  at  his  former  brother  and  pastor. 


TOM    HICKMAN.  185 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

TOM    HICKMAN  — MEZZOFANTI    AND    THE    TWO 
NEOPHYTES. 

"WAS  wishin'  I  had  one  of  them  telegraphs  tother 
Sunday,"  said  Mike  Stoner  one  day,  shortly  after 
Tom  Hickman  had  attended  the  service  at  Pumbe- 
ditha. 

"  Why  so?  "  asked  the  young  parson. 

Mike  put  his  foot  upon  a  fire-plug  near  by,  ejected 
his  tobacco  juice  through  his  teeth,  and  commenced 
to  explain.  "  Why  you  see,  Mr.  Meagre,  Tom  went 
down  to  Pumbeditha,  and  I  had  a  notion  he'd  git  on 
a  spree,  and  I  wanted  you  to  guard  agin  it.  He  was 
goin'  to  a  bush-meetin',  and  I  tried  to  talk  him  out 
of  it.  '  Tom,'  sez  I,  'just  think  a  little.  We  may  all 
want  religion  one  of  them  days,  and  you  are  going 
down  there  to  make  fun  of  it.  What  you  do  to-day 
may  rise  up  .agin  you  some  time.'  Tom  said  he  never 
thought  of  that,  and  promised  me  he'd  go  to  your 
meetin'." 

"And  he  did  come,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  "  I  saw  him 
after  service,  and  he  told  me  I  might  thank  you  that 
he  was  there.  That  only  goes  to  show  that  you  may 
be  an  instrument  for  good,  and  ought  to  use  your  in- 
fluence." 

16* 


186  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

"  That  was  a  small  matter,"  said  Mike. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Stoner,  you  call  that  a  small  matter, 
but  we  have  no  right  to  say  which  of  our  words  and 
actions  are  small  and  which  are  great.  Your  word  in 
season  that  Sunday  morning  may  mark  the  turning 
point  in  Tom's  life." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Meagre,  but  I  was  ashamed  afterwards 
of  the  argements  I  used  with  Tom.  I  thought  'bout 
that  sarmont  you  preached  once  :  don't  know  how  you 
sed  it,  but  the  idee  was  that  a  feller  who  sarved  God 
just  for  fear  the  Devil  would  git  him  if  he  didn't,  and 
nothin'  else,  might  be  a  selfish  man.  I  think  like  you 
sed,  that  a  feller  ought  to  have  higher  motives.  Tom 
eat  supper  with  us  next  night  after  he  come  home, 
and  me  and  him  and  Kitty  was  talkin'  over  the  mat- 
ter, and  we  all  three  concluded  that,  most  people  treat 
the  good  Lord  very  mean.  They  just  use  Him  for  a 
convenience  to  help  them  when  they  get  into  the  big 
scrape,  and  if  they  didn't  think  they'd  get  into  the 
scrape  they  wouldn't  sarve  Him  at  all.  Don't  you 
see  ?  Fact  is,  I  couldn't  sleep  all  night  to  think  of 
the  way  I'd  been  treatin'  Him.  If  any  feller'd  a 
treated  me  in  that  way  —  kind  of  toadied  me,  not 
'cause  he  liked  me,  but  to  save  his  own  bacon — I'd  a 
been  down  on  him  sure.  It's  onprincipled." 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  what  you  say, 
Mr.  Stoner,"  said  the  young  parson.  "  We  ought  to 
love  God  for  what  He  is  in  Himself,  and  for  what  He 
has  done  for  us,  but  most  people  are  blinded  to  that. 
Still,  you  had  a  right  to  urge  the  consideration  you 


TOM    HICKMAN.  187 

did  with  Tom,  as  a  great  though  lesser  motive,  and  I 
am  glad  that  you  talked  with  him  as  you  did  after- 
wards. I  want  you  and  your  wife  to  help  me  in  that 
way,  and  God  will  make  your  efforts  successful." 

"  Will  be  glad  to  do  anything  I  can,"  said  Mike. 
"  Tom  was  oncommon  interested  in  your  sarmont  that 
day,  and  talked  lots  about  the  way  you  tuck  his  hand, 
and  walked  away  out  of  the  church  gate  afore  you  let 
it  go.  And  you  may  think  it  strange,  but  he  liked  it 
that  you  called  him  '•Tom'  " 

"  0  no,"  said  the  little  preacher.  "  It  is  not  strange 
that  he  should  be  pleased  with  that  kind  of  familiarity. 
You  know  Lamb  ?  " 

';  0  yes,"  said  J&ike ;  "  'taint  nigh  as  strong  as 
mutton." 

"  But  I  mean  Charles  Lamb  —  a  man  whose  name 
was  Lamb.  He  was  an  English  wit  and  poet,  and  had 
a  very  genial  nature,  although  he  had  some  bad  habits. 
But  what  I  was  going  to  say  about  him  was,  that  he 
speaks  of  having  loved  some  one  because  he  was  the 
last  man  that  called  him  '  Charley.'  All  men  with  warm 
hearts  have  such  feelings.  It  was  very  strange  and 
sad  for  me  to  leave  home  and  school ;  and  nothing 
made  me  feel  that  I  was  among  strangers  more,  than 
the  fact  that  people  called  me  '  Mr.  Meagre.'  But  still 
it  was  all  right,  and  I  would  not  like  people  generally 
to  call  me  anything  else." 

"0  no,"  rejoined  Mike;  "you  are  a  minister. 
But  now,  since  we  are  talking  about  it,  it  dot-s  seem 
strange  for  you  to  call  me  Mr.  Stoner.  Nobody  else 


188  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

does  it.  Even  the  aristocracy,  that  I  don't  'sociate 
•with,  call  me  Mike,  and  if  you'd  talk  about  Mr.  Stoner 
they  wouldn't  know  who  you  meant.  It  makes  me  feel 
kind  of  not  at  home  when  you  put  a  handle  to  my 
name,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  just  treat  me  like  you 
treat  Tom.  It's  more  nateral." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  young  clergyman. 

"  You  seed  Tom  to-day,  didn't  you  ?  "  asked  Mike. 

"Yes,"  answered  Rev.  Petit.  "I  came  past  the 
building  at  whicli  he 'is  working,  and  stopped  to  have 
a  chat  with  him." 

"  Talk  right  sharp  about  his  jinin'  the  meetin'  ?  " 

"  No  sir :  I  talked  most  of  the  time  about  bricks 
and  mortar,  and  told  him  something  I  had  read  in  an 
encyclopaedia  about  Roman  cement.  But  I  expressed 
my  gratification  at  seeing  him  in  church,  and  asked 
him  to  come  and  see  me,  and  think  I  made  him  feel 
so  easy  in  my  company  that  he  will  be  apt  to  accept 
the  invitation.  Then  I  can  talk  to  him  about  his  union 
with  the  church." 

"  That's  the  ticket,"  exclaimed  Mike,  slapping  his 
hand  upon  his  thigh.  "And  now  let  me  tell  you,  par- 
son, that  what  you  did  worked  fust  rate,  for  last  night 
Tom  axed  me  if  I  wouldn't  come  with  him  to  see  you." 

"  I  hope  you  agreed  to  do  so,"  said  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Yes  indeed,  and  I  told  him  he  needn't  be  more 
afeerd  of  you  nor  of  a  little  child.  So  one  of  them 
evenings  me  and  Tom'll  get  on  some  clean  clothes, 
and  pay  our  best  respects  to  you." 


TOM     HICKMAN.  189 

"Do  so,"  said  the  young  parson,  heartily  shaking 
Mike's  horny  hand. 

"  I  will,  Mr.  Meagre.     Good-bye." 

A  few  evenings  after  this  Mike  and  Tom  knocked 
at  the  pastor's  study  door,  and  received  a  hearty  wel- 
come. Both  had  on  clean  shirts  and  linen  coat?,  and 
wore  their  Sunday  boots  and  second  best  pants.  Tom 
sported  a  breastpin  with  a  green  glass  set  in  it,  larger 
than  any  emerald  among  the  crown  jewels  of  Europe. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Please  be  seated,"  said 
the  parson. 

"  Obleeged  to  you.  Tom,  take  that  cheer.  I  think 
I'll  set  where  I  did  when  I  come  to  see  about  gittin' 
married,"  said  Mike,  squatting  on  the  ottoman,  and 
depositing  his  hat — a  straw  one  this  time — as  he  had 
deposited  it  on  the  former  occasion.  Tom  took  the 
chair,  but  insisted  upon  holding  his  old  Guiaquil  in  his 
hand.  The  visitors  were  soon  at  comparative  ease, 
although  at  times  neither  seemed  to  know  what  to  do 
with  his  hands  and  feet.  At  first  Mike's  knees  were 
on  a  level  with  his  chin,  but  after  a  little  while  he 
stretched  his  legs  out  at  full  length,  and  leaned  back 
against  the  mantel.  Tom  tilted  his  chair  back  a  little, 
and  put  the  outer  side  of  his  left  foot  flat  on  his  right 
knee,  and  then  the  persons  of  the  men  seemed  to  be 
properly  and  comfortably  adjusted. 

"  You've  got  lots  of  books,  Mr.  Me;igre,"  said  Tom, 
looking  up  at  the  single  case,  in  which  about  three 
hundred  volumes  were  ranged. 

"  Not  very  many,  Tom.  You  ought  to  see  Dr.  Kay's." 


190  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"  Got  more'n  you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Hickman. 

"  0  yes,"  said  Rev.  Petit.  "  If  all  the  walls  in 
this  room,  and  another  one  like  it,  were  covered  with 
shelves,  they  would  not  hold  all  the  volumes  he  has." 

"  Gemmini ! "  exclaimed  Tom. 

"  Well,  now,  I'd  like  to  see  all  them,"  said  Mike. 

"  So  would  I,  just  for  curiosity,"  chimed  in  Tom. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  "if  you  go  up  there,  the 
Doctor  will  show  you  through." 

"Must  have  a  power  of  books  —  more'n  in  a  hook- 
store,"  said  Mike. 

"Yes,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "and  some  single  hooks 
that  he  has  are,  perhaps,  worth  more  than  all  I  have." 

"  Did  you  ever  read  all  of  them  ? "  asked  Tom, 
pointing  to  the  pastor's  nest-egg  of  a  library. 

"  Not  all  of  those  that  you  see  there,  Tom.  Some 
of  those  are  dictionaries  —  all  of  those  in  the  lower 
corner  shelf,"  said  the  parson,  reaching  back,  and 
throwing  open  the  glass  doors. 

The  visitors  arose  to  take  a  good  look.  "Rec'on 
if  a  man'd  swaller  that  big  feller  he'd  talk  more  hifa- 
lutin'  dick  than  Bill  Bottles,"  said  Tom. 

"  Mr.  Meagre,"  broke  in  Mike,  "s'pose  you  show  us 
one  of  them  Latin  and  Greek  books  just  for  curiosity." 

"  Yes,  I  often  thought  I'd  like  to  see  one  of  them 
once,"  added  Tom. 

"  This  one  is  the  Bible  in  Latin,"  said  the  young  par- 
son, handing  down  a  yellow-edged  copy  of  the  Vulgate. 
"The  a,  b,  c's  the  same  as  English,"  remarked 
Mike,  "  only  the  words  is  different." 


TOMHICKMAN.  191 

"  Yes  sir.  This  is  a  part  of  the  Bible  in  Greek," 
said  the  clerical  showman,  opening  a  copy  of  Van 
Ess's  edition  of  the  Septuagmt. 

"  Chicken  scratches  ! "  exclaimed  Tom,  inconti- 
nently. "  Often  heard  of  them,  but  never  seed  'em 
before." 

"  This  is  German,"  continued  the  parson,  as  he  laid 
his  hand  on  a  volume  of  Zollikofer's  sermons  that  Dr. 
Kay  had  given  him. 

"  It  looks  like  the  old  country,"  suggested  Mike. 
"  Should  take  that  to  be  genewine." 

"This  is  Hebrew,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  as  he  took  up 
the  Bible  in  that  language.  "You  read  this  back- 
wards. See,  it  commences  here  at  the  back  part  of 
the  book,  and  you  read  it  from  right  to  left." 

"  Well  now,  I  never  !  "  said  Tom.  "  Mr.  Meagre, 
s 'pose  you  read  a  little  of  that  just  to  let  a  feller  see 
how  it  goes." 

"  be-re-shith  bd-rd  e-lo-him  eth  hash-shama-yim  ve-eth 
M-cL  retz : " 

commenced  the  learned  and  accommodating  pastor, 
parrot-like,  following  the  words  with  his  finger  for  the 
benefit  of  his  visitors  —  and  for  his  own. 

uNow  what  does  that  mean  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

The  young  Rabbi  translated  the  sentence  with  the 
aid  of  his  memory,  in  the  language  of  the  first  verse 
of  Genesis,  as  set  forth  in  the  King  James's  version. 

"  Well,  I'll  declare.  Sounds  like  as  if  a  body  had 
mush  in  their  mouth,"  said  Mike.  "  Got  any  other 
kind?" 


102  T11E    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"None,  except  an  Italian  grammar  and  a  French 
dictionary  that  belonged  to  my  sister." 
"  He's  show'd  us  enough,"  said  Tom. 
"  I  suppose  so,"  remarked  Rev.  Petit,  replacing  the 
books  and  closing  the  case. 

"Yes  indeed,"  said  Mike,  "never  spected  to  see 
that  much.  Wish  Kitty'd  a  been  here.  It's  monsus 
interestin'." 

The  two  men  were  in  evident  admiration  of  the 
young  clergyman's  erudition,  which  made  him  feel 
badly,  for  he  did  not  like  to  humbug  them,  but  the 
efforts  he  honestly  made  to  assure  them  that  he  was 
no  scholar  were  accredited  to  his  modesty ;  and  there- 
after in  their  lives  had  any  one  spoken  of  Porson  or 
Melancthon  as  great  linguists,  Mike  and  Tom  would  in 
all  probability  have  referred  to  Rev.  Petit  Meagre,  as 
being  entitled  to  a  niche  as  high  up  in  the  temple  of 
fame  as  either  of  those  worthies.  Some  of  the  compli- 
ments paid  to  him  caused  a  mischievous  smile  to  play 
over  his  face.  "  How  little  capital  it  takes  to  trade  with 
some  people,"  thought  he,  "  and  how  many  there  are 
to  take  advantage  of  this  fact !  Now  if  I  had  Brother 
Bottles  here,  I  could  take  some  verb  through  the  Kal, 
Niphal,  Piel,  Pual,  Hiphal,  Hophal,  Hithpael,  or  talk 
so  learnedly  about  the  '  Dagesh  forte '  and  the  '  com- 
posite sheva,'  that  he  would  shrink  from  any  idea  of  a 
controversy  with  me  in  the  future."  But  the  mere 
thoughts  of  these  familiar  forms  and  terms  reminded 
the  juvenile  incumbent  of  his  first  lame  attempt  to 
acquire  a  knowledge  of  the  learned  languages,  and  he 
was  humble  enough. 


A     DRIVE     WITH     TOM     HICKMAN.        193 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  DRIVE  WITH  TOM  H I CK  MAN  — FAITH. 

THE  visitors  soon  re-seated  themselves,  and  after  a 
while  the  talk  turned  upon  the  church,  and  the  per- 
sonal interest  they  ought  to  have  in  the  Divine  Re- 
deemer's kingdom.  After  this,  the  parson  prayed 
with  them,  and  gave  them  each  a  cheap  English 
translation  of  Thomas  a  Kempis,  bearing  the  imprint 
of  the  Presbyterian  Board  of  Publication.  When  they 
were  about  to  leave,  Tom  nudged  Mike,  and  said, 
"  You'd  better  ax  Mr.  Meagre." 

"0  yes,"  said  the  stirred-up  man.  "Mr.  Meagre, 
Tom  wanted  to  know  if  you  had  any  way  to  git  out 
to  your  country  appintment  next  Sunday  ?  *' 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  the  parson.  "  Mrs.  Colonel  Burke, 
who  lives  near  Salem  church,  attends  service  at  Mr. 
Corneel's  church  in  the  morning,  and  she  has  promised 
to  take  me  out  in  her  carriage.  But  why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"Nuthin,  only  thought  he'd  like  to  hitch  up  the 
old  glass-eye  in  a  tilbury,  and  take  you  out." 

"Very  well,"  said  Rev.  Petit :  "I  will  give  Tom 

the  preference,  if  it  will  not  put  him  to  inconvenience. 

I  will  have  an  opportunity  to  decline  Mrs.  Burke 's 

invitation  to-morrow,  and  am  glad  of  it ;  for  I  fear 

17 


194  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

that  I  impose  on  her  kindness  by  going  with  her  so 
often." 

Tom's  face  brightened.  "You  needn't  fear  of 
'posin'  on  Mrs.  Burke,"  said  he,  "  for  I  helped  to  fix 
a  bake-oven  out  there,  and  I  know  she  'spects  you 
very  high,  and  it  might  be  more  agreeabler  to  go  with 
her  and  her  darters ;  but  if  you  don't  mind  ridin' 
with  a  feller  like  me,  I'll  be  glad  to  take  you." 

"  I  would  sooner  go  with  you,  Tom,  this  time," 
said  the  parson. 

"  Very  well  then.  The  critter's  very  gentle,  only 
she's  a  sugar-tail,  you  know,  and  she's  a  little  onrest- 
less,  bein'  its  fly  time." 

"  I  will  think  it  a  favor  to  ride  with  you,  Tom,  and 
would  not  mind  to  have  a  spirited  horse,  if  you  are  a 
good  driver." 

"  0,"  said  he,  "  I  am  some  at  that.  Never  had  but 
one  boss  that  give  me  any  trouble,  and  that  was  that 
little  bay  mare  I  got  of  Jim  Smith.  She  didn't  look 
like  much  of  a  boss  to  drive  nether.  Body'd  a 
thought  they  could  a  cotched  her  by  the  hind  heels, 
and  run  her  over  the  road  like  a  wheel-barrow,  but 
she  was  uncommon  wicious.  You  see  Sam  Dover, 
that  was  learnin'  blacksmithin'  with  Jim,  he  com- 
pletely ruinated  her  dispersition.  But  old  glass-eye's 
safe  for  sartain." 

The  next  Sunday  Tom  drove  up  to  the  door  with 
a  tall,  agate-eyed,  thin-tailed  horse,  bestrapped  with 
a  profusion  of  halters,  martingales,  and  fly-nets,  and 
hitched  to  a  no-topped  buggy,  painted  red  and  yellow. 


A     DRIVE    WITH    TOM    HICKMAN.        195 

"  Whoa,  Ball,"  said  he,  as  he  jumped  out,  and 
holding  the  reins  in  one  hand,  reached  across  the 
pavement,  thumped  against  the  front  door  with  the 
butt  of  his  whip. 

The  young  parson  heard  the  knock,  and  looking 
out  of  the  window  saw  his  friend.  He  quickly  put  on 
a  linen  duster,  slipped  a  manuscript  into  his  pocket, 
and  was  soon  seated  by  Mr.  Hickman's  side  in  the 
wagon.  His  chaperon's  white  wristbands  were  turned 
back  "  to  kill,"  and  that  gentleman  drew  the  ribbons 
with  the  air  of  a  showman  driving  forty  horses  through 
a  village  before  a  massive  gilt  band-wagon.  The  Rev. 
Petit  noticed  with  satisfaction  that  his  friend  took  a 
pride  in  being  seen  with  him. 

"Strange,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  the  kind-hearted 
man,  as  they  rode  along,  u  six  months  ago  I'd  a  been 
ashamed  to  be  seen  with  a  minister,  and  now  I'm 
only  too  glad  to  have  a  parson  that  ain't  ashamed  to 
be  seen  with  me.  Fact  is,  I've  got  dif'rent  ideas  of 
religion  from  what  I  used  to  had.  Used  to  think  it 
was  a  dry  affair,  'ntended  only  for  curus  old  people, 
but  now  I  think  its  'ntended  for  everybody,  and  if 
understood  right  will  make  'em  happy." 

"  Certainly,  religion  is  intended  to  make  all  people 
happy,"  said  the  youthful  minister.  "  Who  has  the 
most  right  to  be  happy,  Tom  —  the  man  upon  whom 
the  wrath  of  God  is  resting,  or  the  man  who  has 
God's  favor,  and  knows  that  His  love  and  power  are 
pledged  that  all  things  will  work  together  for  his 
good?" 


196  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

"Why  the  last  one  you  said,"  answered  Tom,  "  that 
stands  to  reason." 

"  You  are  right,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Meagre.  "The 
fear  of  the  Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  and 
wisdom's  ways  are  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  all  her 
paths  are  peace.  Religion  is  'joy  unspeakable.'  " 

On  the  way  back  Tom  asked  :  "  Mr.  Meagre,  don't 
them  pleasures  of  being  a  Christian  reach  out  to 
everything  ?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  little  preacher.  "  Godliness 
is  profitable  unto  all  things,  having  promise  of  the 
life  that  now  is  and  that  which  is  to  come.  The 
Christian  ought  to  derive  more  joy  from  God's  bright 
heavens  and  green  earth  than  any  one  else.  Look  at 
that  beautiful  sunset,  Tom.  What  does  it  suggest 
to  you?" 

"Never  thought  of  that  before,"  said  Tom,  after 
gazing  for  a  moment.  "  It  looks  like  as  if  Heaven 
and  Earth  melted  into  one  another.  That  yaller  looks 
like  glory  shinin'  clean  down  on  the  mountain,  and 
lightin'  the  way  up  through  the  clouds.  It  makes  a 
feller  feel  a  sort  of  lovesick  after  somethin'  he  might 
have,  and  ain't  got  yit.  Puts  me  in  mind  of  one  of 
them  psalms  Kitty  read  to  me  one  night.  Don't  just 
recommember  what  the  words  was,  but  anyhow  they 
kind  of  lifted  a  feller's  thoughts  up  to  the  sky." 

Mr.  Meagre  recognized  the  poetry  in  his  uneducated 
friend's  nature,  and  took  occasion  to  tell  him  about 
Jacob's  vision,  and  the  Saviour's  words  to  Nathaniel. 
"Christ,"  he  said,  "  is  the  Sun  —  the  Light  of  the 


A    DRIVE    WITH    TOM    HICKMAN.       197 

world :  the  Way,  arid  the  Truth,  and  the  Life.  He 
unites  Heaven  and  Earth.  By  Him  the  blessings  of 
God  like  heavenly  angels  come  down  to  us,  and  by 
Him  we,  like  the  angels,  may  go  up  to  Heaven.  See 
to  it  that  His  life  becomes  yours,  Tom;  trust  in  Him, 
and  all  will  be  well." 

"Hope  I'll  do  so,"  said  Tom^  "but  what  made  me 
ax  that  question  about  religion  bein'  in  everything, 
was  the  way  it  works  on  Mike.  Been  watchin'  him, 
you  see,  and  though  he's  got  as  much  humor  'bout  him 
as  ever,  he  allers  seems  thinkin'  and  prayin'.  Yister- 
day  evening  we  walked  out  to  his  wheat  patch,  and 
you'd  a  took  him  to  be  the  most  thankfulest  man  you 
ever  seed.  His  eyes  filled  up,  and  he  seemed  sort  of 
sayin'  grace,  like  before  eatin'  all  the  time.  And 
then  he  seems  to  think  more  of  even  dumb  brutes ;  — 
not  that  he  was  ever  wicious  to  'em,  but  now  he  has  a 
real  feelin'  for  'em.  Believe  his  dog  and  cat  likes  it 
better  since  he  jined  the  meetin'." 

"  Grace  produces  just  such  effects  on  the  heart  of 
man,"  said  Mr.  Meagre.  "  Religion  is  a  life,  and  it 
underlies  and  enters  into  everything  just  as  a  man's 
natural  life  does.  It  just  lays  hold  of  a  man's  natu- 
ral life,  raises  it  up,  and  sanctifies  it.  And  Tom, 
grace  refines  a  man  —  it  gives  him  finer  feelings  and 
better  manners.  Did  you  ever  see  a  Christian  woman 
that  did  not  keep  a  clean  house,  and  love  flowers  ?  or 
did  you  ever  see  one  that  was  not  modest  and 
polite  ?" 

'•Never  tuk  much  notice  till  here  of  late,"  said 
17* 


198  THE    YOUNG     PARS  OX. 

Tom,  "only  of  Kitty.  She  always  was  clean,  and 
fond  of  mornin'-glories.  And  John  Bolton's  wife 
that  you  buried  !  How  kind  that  woman  was  to  every 
one !  and  how  she  did  like  that  rose-bush  of  her'n  ! 
She  was  a  good  woman.  I  often  think  of  them  things 
—  that  is  of  late  —  but  somehow  you  can't  git  fairly 
into  religion,  or  rather  git  it  into  you  by  just  thinkin'. 
It  seems  outside  of  you,  much  as  you  worry  your  brain 
about  it." 

"  That  is  true,  Tom.  The  Holy  Spirit  must  do  a 
work  there,"  said  the  pastor. 

By  this  time  Old  Ball  had  brought  the  parties  to 
the  edge  of  the  town.  As  they  were  driving  through 
the  street  Tom  remarked :  "  One  thing  troubles  me, 
Mr.  Meagre.  See  them  fellers  before  Hottle's  tavern  ? 
Well,  them's  my  old  'sociates,  and  they  think  hard 
of  me,  'cause  I  don't  run  with  them  so  much  any 
more.  They  say  I  am  getting  too  good,  and  think 
myself  above  'em.  But  while  I  don't  'prove  of  all 
they  do,  and  cut  up  with  them  so  much  like  I  used 
to.  I  ain't  got  a  bit  of  spite  agin  anybody,  and  know 
I  am  as  bad  as  the  worst  of  'em." 

"Treat  them  kindly,  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Meagre. 
"  Show  yourself  to  be  honest  and  consistent  in  your 
efforts  to  do  good,  and  they  may  be  won  to  Christ  by 
your  good  example.  See  how  much  Mike  Stoner  is 
doing  in  that  way." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  "  Mike's  doin'  a  good  work,  and 
I  hope  to  profit  by  his  example.  I  spend  most  of  my 
evenins  with  Mike  arid  Kitty,  and  like  it  fust  rate. 


A    DRIVE    WITH     TOM    IIICKMAN.        199 

Fact  is,  I  spect  to  board  with  'em.  You  know  my 
wife's  dead  a  Jong  time,  and  I've  got  no  one  to  do  for 
me  since  Kitty's  married.  But  I'll  treat  the  boys 
right  for  sure,  and  if  ever  I  jine  the  meetin'  I'll  have 
some  of  'era  in  'fore  long,  if  the  good  Lord  blesses  me 
in  it,  and  you  say  He  is  more  willin'  to  save  men  than 
we  are  to  have  'em  saved." 

When  the  young  parson  g'ot  out  of  the  buggy,  he 
thanked  Tom  for  his  kindness,  but  Tom  insisted  upon 
it  that  the  favor  was  "  on  tother  side."  "  I'd  like  to 
take  you  out  to  Salem 's  every  time,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
spect  to  part  with  glass-eye  in  a  day  or  two,  bein'  as 
feed's  high,  and  I've  got  no  use  for  the  critter  durin' 
the  week.  Howsomever,  if  you  git  into  a  scrape  'bout 
goin'  out,  let  me  know,  and  I'll  skeer  up  a  riggin'." 

Although  Mr.  Meagre  seldom  rode  with  his  friend 
after  this,  he  saw  him  very  often,  and  talked  with  him 
a  great  deal.  Tom  was  always  at  the  church  door 
before  service.  After  shaking  hands  with  the  minister, 
he  followed  him  into  the  church,  put  his  hat  on  the 
window  ledge,  rested  his  arms  on  the  back  of  the  pew 
in  front  of  him,  and  listened  intently.  It  was  not 
long,  either,  before  he  united  with  the  congregation  in 
celebrating  the  central  mystery  of  our  holy  religion. 
The  day  on  which  he  was  confirmed  was  one  of  tearful 
joy  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stoner,  and  the  influence  of  the 
new  disciple  was  manifested  by  the  fact  that  about  a 
dozen  men,  who  had  long  spent  their  Sundays  about 
Hottle's  tavern,  crowded  regularly  into  the  two  hind- 
most pews  of  the  church ;  and  in  the  course  of  time 


200  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

the  young  pastor  was  rejoiced  to  see  most  of  these 
persons  at  Tom's  side  before  the  altar,  when  the  blessed 
Eucharist  was  administered. 

About  a  year  before  Mr.  Meagre  resigned  the  Gain- 
field  charge,  his  faithful  friend  Hickman  fell  from  a 
scaffold,  and-injured  himself  so  severely  that  he  did 
not  survive  many  days.  But  during  the  few  days  that 
he  lingered  his  pastor  was  nearly  always  by  his  side. 
When  the  last  communion  was  given  to  him,  his  two 
friends  partook  of  it  with  him,  and  all  seemed  to  be 
strengthened  by  it.  The  prospect  of  death  did  not 
make  the  poor  sufferer  sad.  Once,  indeed,  a  cloud 
overshadowed  him.  Then,  instead  of  looking  at  Christ, 
he  had  commenced  to  look  at  himself,  and  found  so 
much  to  condemn  that  he  became  despondent. 

Mrs.  Stoner,  who  was  standing  by  the  bed,  said : 
"  Tom,  do  you  remember  the  man  that  killed  the  ped- 
lar out  in  the  country  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom. 

"  Well,"  said  Kitty,  "  that  man  felt  guilty  enough. 
His  feel  ins  were  awful  when  he  was  in  jail,  and  that 
was  mebbe  right,  even  as  it's  right  for  us  to  feel  our 
sins ;  but  more  depended  on  the  Grov'ner's  feelins 
towards  the  man  than  on  his  own." 

"Right,  Kitty,"  said  Tom,  "and  God's  the  Gov'- 
ner  in  my  case — that  is.  He's  got  the  pard'nin'  power, 
ain't  He?" 

"Yes,  Tom,  and  He  would  not  that  any  should 
perish ;  and  since  Christ  has  suffered  in  your  place, 


TOM   HICKMAN'S   DEATH.  201 

he  can  be  just,  and  yet  the  justifier  of  them  that  be- 
lieve. Only  have  faith,  Tom." 

"Lord,  increase  my  faith,"  said  the  sick  man. 

And  God  did  increase  his  faith.  Thereafter  he 
constantly  rejoiced  in  hope  of  the  glory  of  God. 
"  Mr.  Meagre,"  he  said,  "that  time  I  heard  you 
preach  in  Pumbeditha  you  told  about  faith.  You 
said  a  man  was  justified  not  by  offeriri  to  God  what 
he  had  done  for  himself,  but  by  takiri  from  God 
what  Christ  has  done  for  him,  and  faith  is  that  which 
takes  it." 

"  Yes,  and  even  faith  is  the  gift  of  God.  It  is  a 
disposition  and  power  to  receive  Christ,  wrought  in 
the  heart  by  the  Holy  Ghost,"  remarked  the  pastor. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Tom.  "It's  more  than  just 
bein'  determined  to  think  you'll  be  saved.  It's  the 
Spirit's  work.  Dr.  Kay  come  over  that  one  night 
riot  long  ago  in  a  sarmont,  and  made  it  very  plain." 

"Yes,  Tom,  I  remember  that  sermon  myself,"  said 
the  pastor.  "  The  Doctor  gave  us  some  very  clear  defi- 
nitions of  its  workings,  and  will  be  glad  if  they  have 
been  blessed  to  your  good." 

"They  have  —  they  have,"  said  Tom,  "  and  Mr. 
Meagre,  I  thank  you  for  all  you've  done  for  me,  and 
you  Kitty,  and  you  Mike." 

"  Thank  Crod  for  everything,"  said  poor  Stoner, 
bursting  into  tears. 

"  I  do,  I  do,"  said  the  dying  man.  "  Now,  Mr. 
Meagre,  read  about  the  rod  and  the  staff  in  the  dark 
valley." 


202  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

This  request  was  complied  with,  and  then  Tom 
said  :  "  The  valley's  all  bright  to  me,  Mr.  Meagre  — 
brighter  than  that  sunset  was.  "You  were  right. 
Christ  is  the  Sun.  Christ  is  the  Way  and  the  Truth, 
and  the  Life.  Christ  is  everything." 

With  these  words  trembling  on  his  lips,  one  of  the 
young  parson's  warmest  friends  fell  asleep  in  Jesus. 
Michael  Stoner  and  his  wife  mourned  for  their  de- 
ceased friend  as  one  mourneth  for  a  brother,  and  yet 
they  sorrowed  not  as  those  that  have  no  hope.  A 
large  number  of  Tom's  acquaintances  assembled  at 
the  funeral,  expecting  to  hear  a  flaming  panegyric  on 
the  dead  man's  character.  But  only  a  few  remarks 
were  made.  In  these  the  wondrous  grace  of  God  was 
magnified.  Then  the  simple,  beautiful  burial  service 
was  read,  and  the  body  laid  to  rest  in  hope  of  the 
resurrection  of  the  just. 

An  elder's  wife  afterwards  expressed  some  doubt 
about  Tom  Hickman's  state  in  the  other  world,  and 
recalled  some  acts  of  his  life  to  bring  her  husband 
into  sympathy  with  her  views ;  but  some  other  people 
were  more  hopeful  in  regard  to  the  case,  and  the 
memory  of  that  plain,  generous-hearted  man  lingers 
as  a  fragrance  in  the  heart  of  the  young  parson,  and 
perhaps  in  the  hearts  of  a  few  others,  to  this  day. 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  203 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE  — SPECIMEN 
BRICKS  — NO.  1.  A  PRESSED  BRICK. 

MRS.  LINK  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  Gainfield.  In 
order  to  get  to  her  house,  it  was  necessary  to  leave 
the  pavements,  walk  through  the  narrow  dirty  alleys, 
fighting  your  way  with  lazy  cows  the  whole  distance, 
and  then  either  climb  a  fence  and  cross  a  low  wet  lot, 
or  else  follow  a  crooked  lane  half  a  mile  around.  This, 
however,  did  not  deter  Mr.  Meagre  from  going  to  see 
the  woman,  although  he  did  not  always  accomplish  the 
object  he  had  in  view,  for  he  seldom  gained  admission 
to  the  house.  And  yet  Mrs.  Link  complained  bitterly 
of  her  pastor  for  not  visiting  her. 

In  the  course  of  time  the  young  parson  was  led  to 
the  conclusion  that  his  dear  parishioner  was  in  the 
habit  of  hiding  from  him,  and  that  her  Jeremiads  were 
only  intended  to  screen  her  the  more  securely  against 
suspicion.  One  day  he  was  fully  confirmed  in  his 
opinion.  He  went  to  see  her,  and  did  see  her  peeping 
around  the  bake-oven,  as  he  approached  the  house. 
Fearing  that  he  might  fail  to  find  her  at  home  again, 
he  hastened  to  the  front  door,  knocked,  and  being 
asked  to  walk  in,  did  so  quickly,  but  with  all  his  haste 
only  in  time  to  see  her  retreating  upstairs. 


204  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"Is  Mrs.  Link  not  in?"  he  asked  of  her  mother, 
who  was  sitting  in  the  room  through  which  the  fugitive 
daughter  had  just  passed. 

"No  sir,"  answered  the  good  woman,  positively. 

"  Is  it  possible,  Mrs.  Wilt  ?  "  asked  the  Rev.  Petit. 
"  I  thought  I  saw  her  in  the  yard  as  I  was  crossing 
the  meadow  a  few  moments  ago." 

"  She  hain't  been  home  these  two  hours.  Talked 
about  goin'  to  the  store,  but  I  reckon  she's  only  at 
some  of  the  neighbors'." 

"You  had  better  go  in  search  of  her,"  said  Rev. 
Petit,  "as  I  am  anxious  to  tell  her  how  often  I  have 
been  here  of  late." 

The  old  lady  put  on  a  sun-bonnet  and  went  out, 
slamming  the  door  violently  after  her.  Mrs.  Link 
evidently  thought  her  pastor  had  taken  his  departure, 
for  she  c;ime  bouncing  down  stairs,  and  exclaimed  as 
she  jumped  into  the  room:  "  Well,  I'm  glad  that  little 
pest's  gone.  He's  allers  pokin'  round  a  body.  Rec'on 
he  wants  me  to  come  to  sacrament,  but  I  ain't  " — here 
she  discovered  her  mistake,  stopped  short,  and  stood 
dumb  with  confusion.  "  Thought — thought  you'd  gone 
out,"  she  stammered  at  last. 

"  It  was  your  mother  that  went  out,"  said  Rev.  Petit ; 
"  I  am  still  here,  as  you  see,  and  whatever  I  might  have 
wished  you  to  do  when  I  first  came,  I  cannot  now  urge 
you  to  come  to  the  communion  until  you  have  heartily 
repented  of  your  sins.  Then  I  think  you  had  better 
come,  for  you  perhaps  stand  in  need  of  something  to 
strengthen  you." 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  205 

The  young  parson  felt  badly  enough  at  finding  such 
a  laxity  of  morals  among  his  people :  he  feared  this 
was  only  a  sample  of  the  spirit  that  many  of  them 
had,  arid  as  might  be  expected,  he  proceeded  to  give 
Mrs.  Link  a  gentle  lecture,  telling  her  how  wrong  it 
was  to  attempt  to  deceive  one  whom  God  had  placed 
over  her,  and  who  was  anxious  to  do  her  good.  Of 
course  he  dwelt  most  upon  the .  fact  that  God  was 
omniscient,  and  that  the  sin  was  after  all  against  Hitu, 

While  he  was  discharging  this  painful  duty  Mrs. 
Wilt  returned.  She  discovered  the  "state  of  the 
war"  as  soon  as  she  opened  the  door.  "  That's  right, 
give  it  to  her,  Mr.  Meagre,"  she  exclaimed ;  "  I  always 
told  Bee  you'd  catch  her  in  one  of  her  lies,  one  of 
them  days.  Here  she  sets  up  in  the  loft  lookin'  out 
of  the  little  gable  winder  half  her  time,  for  fear  you'll 
come,  and  if  she  ain't  up  there  when  you  cross  the 
lot,  she  tries  to  'scape  up,  and  yet  she  goes  on  awful 
'cause  you  don't  come  to  see  her.  For  my  part,  I 
think  it's  wrong  to  cheat  a  parson  that  way." 

"But  are  you  not  a  partaker  of  her  sins,  Mrs. 
Wilt?"  asked  the  young  parson. 

"No  sir:  I  didn't  tell  her  to  hide,"  said  the 
woman. 

"But  you  told  me  she  was  not  in  the  house,  and 
tried  to  make  me  believe  it,"  said  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Mebbe  I  did,"  quoth  Mrs.  Wilt,  "  but  I  am  a 
Presbyterian,  and  you  hain't  got  nothin'  to  do  with 
me." 

Encouraged  by  the  example  of  her  mother,  Mrs. 
18 


206  THE    YOUXG     PARSON. 

Link  grew  bold.  "  That's  right,  mam,"  she  said, 
"don't  let  him  'pose  on  you.  He  shan't  'pose  on  me 
neither.  Never  did  like  his  meetin',  and  am  goin'  to- 
jine  the  Methodists  the  very  first  time  they  have  a 
revival." 

The  young  parson  said  he  had  no  objection  to  her 
changing  her  church  relations,  and  hoped  she  would 
be  improved  by  it. 

It  appears  that  Mrs.  Link  attempted  to  carry  her 
laudable  purpose  into  effect,  but  the  Methodist  minis- 
ter said  he  had  enough  to  keep  him  busy  in  doing  his 
own  bad  members  over  again,  and  could  not  under- 
take his  Brother  Meagre's.  This  remark  served  as  a 
sort  of  counter-irritant,  and  Mrs.  Link  returned  to 
her  old  spiritual  home.  Afterwards  she  got  to  be  a 
right  sensible  kind  of  a  woman. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE  — SPECIMEN  BRICKS  — 
NO.  2.  A  BRICK  OF  A  YARN,  IN  BATS  — FIRST  PART  OF 
THE  BRICK. 

"  THERE  has  been  a  requisition  for  you,  Mr.  Mea- 
gre, since  you  were  last  here,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton 
one  day,  a  few  hours  after  the  young  parson  had 
arrived  in  Pumbeditha. 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  207 

"  From  the  governor  of  a  neighboring  State  ?"  asked 
Rev.  Petit. 

"0  no,"  said  the  good  lady.  "One  of  our  mem- 
bers would  like  to  see  more  of  you." 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  Mrs.  Trimble." 

"Mrs.  Trimble  !"  exclaimed  the  young  clergyman 
in  surprise,  "  I  go  to  see  her,  with  all  the  rest  of  our 
people  who  live  in  th6  village,  every  time  I  come 
here." 

"  Yes  sir,  I  know  you  do,  but  she  wishes  you  to 
make  their  house  your  home  during  some  of  your 
trips  to  Pumbeditha." 

"You  astonish  me,  Mrs.  Middleton,"  said  the 
young  parson.  "  I  thought  the  people  had  come  to 
recognize  your  house  as  my  home  while  in  the  bounds 
of  this  congregation.  I  am  sure  that  I  will  be  more 
available  if  everybody  knows  where  to  find  me,  and 
that  I  can  work  to  more  advantage  if  I  have  a  regular 
point  of  departure.  I  have  a  room  here,  with  what 
books  and  linens  I  require,  in  it ;  and  I  hope  my  mem- 
bers will  not  ask  me  to  commence  such  a  system  of 
ecclesiastical  vagabondism,  as  I  have  discovered  going 
from  place  to  place  to  be." 

"  I  thought  of  all  that  when  Mrs.  Trimble  was  here," 
said  Mrs.  Middleton.  "  I  especially  remembered  your 
aversion  to  strange  beds,  but  could  say  nothing ;  for 
much  as  we  wish  to  have  you  here,  I  would  not  like  to 
appear  desirous  of  monopolizing  you." 


208  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"What  did  you  say  to  Mrs.  Trimble?"  asked  Mr. 
Meagre. 

"  I  simply  told  her  I  would  make  her  request  known 
to  you,"  replied  the  good  woman. 

"  Was  she  urgent  ?  "  asked  the  young  parson. 

"  Yes  sir :  she  said  that  she  would  take  no  denial, 
and  begged  that  you  would  fix  a  time." 

Rev.  Petit  Meagre  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a 
few  times,  and  then  went  and  reclined  upon  a  lounge. 
Resting  his  hand  upon  his  head,  and  stretching  out 
his  slippered  feet,  he  looked  intently  at  a  spot  upon 
the  ceiling.  At  first  his  brow  wore  something  of  a 
frown,  but  this  was  soon  displaced  by  a  smile  that 
Mrs.  Middleton  thought  peculiar. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  she  said.  "  Your 
face  reminds  one  of  an  April  sky :  I  am  glad  to  see 
the  clouds  dispelled  so  soon  by  sunshine." 

"Mrs.  Middleton,"  said  the  young  parson,  "there 
are  some  of  our  members,  such  as  Brother  Early,  who 
would  like  me  to  spend  more  time  with  them  at  their 
homes,  if  consistent  with  my  engagements.  But  Mrs. 
Trimble  does  not  want  me.  I  am  seldom  mistaken  in 
my  estimate  of  human  nature,  and  I  know  enough  of 
that  good  sister  to  be  assured  that  my  presence  in  her 
house  would  make  it  a  purgatory  for  her.  She  is  al- 
ways frightened  half  to  death  when  I  make  a  call  that 
she  knows  will  not  extend  over  an  hour ;  and  when  I 
leave  she  draws  a  long  breath,  as  though  she  experi- 
ences as  much  relief  as  I  did  when  Mrs.  Hayfield 
called  the  dogs  off  of  me  that  night." 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  209 

"  "Why,  Mr.  Meagre  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Middleton, 
"  what  possible  motive  can  the  woman  then  have,  in 
insisting  upon  having  you  stay  with  her  three  days  at 
once  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  theory  about  that,"  said  Rev.  Petit ; 
*'  Mrs.  Trimble  has  been  talking  about  me,  and  fearing 
that  what  she  said  will  reach  my  ears,  wants  to  throw 
sand  in  my  eyes,  or  perhaps  desires  to  make  some 
reparation.  Have  you  never  known  that  system  of 
compensation  to  be  adopted?" 

"  0  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  "  I  think  I  have, 
since  you  call  my  attention  to  it." 

"  Mrs.  Trimble,"  continued  the  young  parson, 
"  measuring  the  act  by  the  annoyance  it  would  be  apt 
to  cause  her,  thinks  it  would  be  a  great  favor  to  pro- 
vide for  my  entertainment.  The  fact  of  her  doing  so, 
she  supposes,  would  be  regarded  by  me  as  proof  posi- 
tive that  she  is  my  unwavering  friend.  At  any  rate, 
she  would  think  it  a  piece  of  charity  sufficient  to  cover 
any  sin  she  might  have  been  guilty  of,  as  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  We  Protestants,  you  know,  are  apt  tb 
believe  in  some  kinds  of  supererogation,  or  that  some 
of  our  better  deeds  will  atone  for  some  of  our  worse 
ones.  But  the  probability  is,  that  Mrs.  Trimble  was 
so  earnest  in  her  invitation  because  she  had  full  confi- 
dence that  it  would  be  declined.  I  have  a  distinct 
recollection  of  having  once  said  in  her  presence,  that 
I  could  not  yield  to  such  solicitations  except  under  very 
peculiar  circumstances ;  but  such  circumstances  may 
18* 


210  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

even  now  have  combined  to  make  me  depart  from  my 
rule." 

"  What  in  the  world  has  put  all  this  into  your  head, 
Mr.  Meagre?"  asked  Mrs.  Middleton. 

"It  is  said,"  replied  the  young  clergyman,  "that 
a  celebrated  naturalist  has  lately  constructed  a  fish 
from  a  single  scale,  and  I  have  as  much  data  to  go 
on  as  he  had.  When  I  was  here  last  there  was  a 
little  buzz,  to  which  I  closed  ray  ears  as  sedulously  as 
possible.  But  I  could  not  help  but  glean  that  some 
one  had  been  making  free  and  disparaging  use  of  my 
name.  I  have  now  an  intimation  of  the  person  thus 
employed,  and  sensitive  as  I  would  be  to  the  charge 
of  having  accused  any  one  falsely,  I  will  be  content 
to  rest  under  the  imputation,  if  I  am  not  borne  out 
by  the  facts  in  the  case  when  the  end  is  known.  I 
often  wish  that  I  could  get  rid  of  these  intuitions  by 
which  I  am  led  to  conclusions  —  generally  correct 
ones.  But  by  way  of  recording  my  opinion  in  ad- 
vance, I  beg  leave  to  ask  a  few  questions  in  regard  to 
Mrs.  Trimble's  visit." 

"Well,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  with  a 
smile,  "  I  know  comparatively  little  of  what  is  said  in 
the  congregation,  and  always  make  it  a  point  to  say 
nothing  to  you  of  what  I  happen  to  hear ;  but  I  sup- 
pose that  if  I  am  called  to  give  evidence,  I  dare  not 
refuse." 

"No,  madam,"  said  the  young  parson  pleasantly, 
"you  have  no  right  to  refuse  to  testify  before  the 
proper  authorities,  and  may  be  glad  enough  if  I  do 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  211 

not  yet  have  you  before  the  vestry  to  testify  in  the 
case." 

"That  would  be  a  great  note.  I  suppose  the  in- 
dictment against  the  poor  woman  would  be  for  inviting 
you  to  accept  her  hospitality.  However,  I  am  not 
afraid  that  you  will  magnify  her  offence  by  bringing 
it  before  the  church  council ;  and  if  I  will  stand  ab- 
solved in  your  own  mind  from  the  charge  of  '  common 
gossip,'  you  can  proceed  with  the  examination,"  said 
the  good  woman,  as  she  laid  down  her  knitting,  and 
dropping  her  hands  in  her  lap,  looked  straight  into 
her  pastor's  eyes. 

"  Well,  to  begin,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  sitting  bolt  up- 
right, and  putting  on  the  semblance  of  dignity.  "  Will 
you  please  tell  the  court  whether  or  not  Mrs.  Trimble 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  visiting  you  ?  " 

"No  sir,"  was  the  reply,  "she  has  not  been  even 
an  occasional  caller.  I  do  not  know  that  she  was 
ever  in  the  house  before  the  time  just  referred  to." 

"  Did  she  appear  easy  in  her  manners  while  she 
was  here?" 

"No  sir,  she  always  seems  to  be  embarrassed  in 
my  presence  when  I  chance  to  meet  her,  although  I 
see  no  reason  why  she  should  be." 

"  On  what  day  did  she  come  to  see  you  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see.  It  was  the  last  Monday  in  June ; 
you  had  left  here  early  that  morning  to  go  on  a  visit 
to  your  father." 

'•  Did  you  say  it  was  on  Monday  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir." 


212  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"Is  not  Monday  her  wash-day?" 

"I  happen  to  know  that  it  is." 

"  Will  you  please  tell  the  court  at  what  hour  of  the 
day  she  was  here?" 

"About  noon,  sir." 

'•  Is  not  that  an  hour  at  which  it  would  be  doubly 
difficult  for  her  to  leave  home  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  as  she  would  scarcely  be  through  with 
her  washing,  and  as  twelve  o'clock  is  her  regular 
dinner  hour." 

"  Will  the  witness  be  kind  enough  to  state  what 
kind  of  a  bonnet  Mrs.  Trimble  wore  when  she  made 
the  call  referred  to  ?  " 

"  The  same  one  that  little  Hattie  was  unfortunate 
enough  to  say  looked  Irish.  Your  honor  will  remem- 
ber that  I  had  to  express  the  hope  that  my  little  grand- 
daughter would  not  make  remarks  about  people's 
clothes." 

'•  The  court  remembers  the  remark  just  referred  to, 
but  simply  wishes  to  know,  officially,  whether  or  not 
Mrs.  Trimble  was  dressed  up  in  her  Sunday  clothes  ?  " 

"  She  was,"  said  the  witness. 

"A  few  more  questions,  if  you  please,  madam : 
When  Mrs.  Trimble  called,  did  she  seem  anxious  to 
introduce  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  as  the  subject  of  conver- 
sation ? " 

"  Yes  sir,  she  introduced  his  name  before  she  had 
fairly  taken  her  seat." 

"  Did  she  seem  to  feel  called  upon  to  avow  that  she 
was  her  pastor's  devoted  friend?" 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  213 

"Yes  sir." 

"  Did  she  declare  emphatically  that  she  had  never 
abused  him  ?  " 

"  She  did." 

"  Was  this  hefore  any  one  had  accused  her  of  having 
been  guilty  of  such  a  thing?" 

"Yes  sir." 

"  Had  she  any  animadversions  upon  people  who 
carried  news  to  preachers?" 

"  Yes  sir." 

"And  hinted  at  some  particular  instance  in  which 
this  was  probably  done?" 

"She  did." 

"  Did  she  intimate  that  perhaps  she  had  been  the 
victim  of  some  slanderous  tongue?" 

"Yes  sir." 

"  Did  she  try  to  find  out  whether  anything  of  the 
kind  had  come  to  the  ears  of  her  pastor?" 

"Yes  sir." 

"And  then  after  all  of  this  she  extended  a  cordial 
invitation  to  him  to  become  her  guest  ?  " 

"Even  so,  sir." 

"  The  witness  can  stand  aside.  It  is  apparent 
enough  to  the  court  that  this  extraordinary  visit  of 
Mrs.  Trimble  had  some  procuring  cause.  She  had 
about  as  much  relish  for  it  as  a  man  has  for  a  business 
call  upon  his  dentist.  The  fact  that  she  went  to  the 
trouble  to  dress  up  and  come  here  on  Monday,  at  an 
hour  when  the  work  of  washing  was  complicated  by 
the  duty  of  getting  dinner,  is  highly  presumptive  of 


214  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

the  fact  that  there  was  some  immediate  impelling  mo- 
tive. Had  she  called  on  Doctor  Forceps  at  that  hour, 
I'should  have  been  certain  that  she  had  the  toothache ; 
and  it  may  he  taken  for  granted  that  she  heard  of 
something  that  threatened  to  mar  her  relations  to  her 
pastor  not  long  before  she  left  home — something  that 
seemed  to  require  immediate  action.  Nor  is  it  hard 
to  discern  the  mainspring  that  has  set  all  this  machinery 
in  motion — there  was  an  evident  attempt  at  propitia- 
tion. The  bench  is  of  the  opinion  that  Mrs.  Trimble 
will  be  cured  of  her  propensity  to  do  business  on  false 
pretences.  Meanwhile  the  court  is  adjourned." 

"  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  "  did  not  Mr. 
Middleton  tell  you  what  passed  when  Mrs.  Trimble 
was  here  ?  " 

"  He  did  not.  Was  he  present  during  the  conver- 
sation ?  " 

"No  sir,  I  was  alone  when  the  sister  called." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  anything  about  it  ?  " 

"I  did  not." 

"  How  then  could  he  tell  me  about  it  ?  "  asked  the 
young  parson. 

"  I  do  not  see  myself  how  he  could  have  done  so, 
and  only  inferred  from  your  approximation  to  the 
truth  that  some  one  had  given  you  an  idea  of  what 
passed,"  said  the  good  woman. 

"  I  heard  nothing  of  the  matter  before  you  spoke 
of  it  just  now,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "  and  yet  I  felt  pre- 
pared to  give  my  judgment  in  regard  to  it.  We  will 
Bee  how  near  right  I  am." 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  215 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE —  SPECIMEN  BRICKS 
—  NO.  2.  A  LITTLE  PIECE  NECESSARY  TO  MAKE  THE 
PARTS  FIT  TOGETHER. 

THE  conversation  just  referred  to  took  place  on 
Friday  afternoon.  Nothing  more  was  said  upon  the 
subject  until  Monday  morning,  when  Mrs.  Middleton 
playfully  said  to  her  husband,  in  the  presence  of  her 
pastor,  that  she  had  been  in  the  witness-box  a  few 
days  before,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life. 

"  Where  was  the  sessions  of  the  court  held  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Middleton. 

"  In  the  room  here,  and  Mr.  Meagre  was  both  pre- 
siding judge  and  examining  attorney,"  said  the  good 
lady. 

"Yes  sir,"  said  the  young  parson,  "and  the  only 
witness  we  had  hinted  that  one  Melville  Middleton 
had  perhaps  had  the  private  ear  of  the  court,  and 
given  such  information  as  enabled  his  honor  to  ask 
some  questions  that  proved  pertinent  to  the  case  in 
hand.  I  have  a  notion  to  subpoana  you  as  a  witness. 
Whom  will  I  get  to  serve  the  notice  ?  Where  is  Mr. 
Bottles?" 

"  He  was  in  Ohio  when  last  heard  from.  I  do  not 
think  you  can  command  his  services  without  a  special 


216  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

permit  from  the  governor  of  that  State,"  said  Mr. 
Middleton. 

"  0  well,  never  mind,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "  I  will 
issue  a  bench-warrant,  and  execute  it  myself." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  that.  I  am  willing  to  testify 
if  I  can  explain  any  mystery  ;  but  I  do  not  know  what 
case  is  before  the  court." 

"Well,  allow  me  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  Mr. 
Middleton,"  said  the  young  parson.  "Were  you 
present  during  a  conversation  that  took  place  in  this 
room  a  few  weeks  ago,  between  Mrs.  Trimble  and 
Mrs.  Middleton  ?" 

"No  sir." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Middleton  tell  you  anything  about  that 
conversation  ?" 

"  No  sir." 

"  Then  you  could  not  have  reported  it  to  one  Petit 
Meagre.  But  do  you  know  anything  about  Mrs. 
Trimble's  visit  at  the  time  referred  to?  Please  tell 
us  all  you  know  in  regard  to  it." 

"  I  do  know  something  about  it,  although  my 
knowledge  of  the  affair  is  altogether  a  matter  of  acci- 
dent. I  was  in  Doctor  Arlington's  office  about  noon 
one  day,  and  Mrs.  Trimble  passed  along  the  street. 
When  she  was  opposite  the  door  she  met  Miss 
Needles,  the  seamstress,  who  asked  her  where  in  the 
world  she  had  been  all  dressed  up  on  wash-day,  just 
at  dinner  time.  Mrs.  Trimble  replied  that  she  was 
obliged  to  put  on  her  things  and  go  up  to  Middleton's 
to  get  herself  out  of  a  scrape ;  she  had  hardly  got  her 


EFFORTS    TO     PLEASE    THE    PE*OPLE.    217 

hands  in  the  suds  that  morning,  before  her  girl  had 
informed  her  that  some  one  had  told  *  Meagre'  all 
she  had  said  about  his  having  *  such  fine  stuff  in  his 
clothes.'  —  She  further  stated  that  she  went  to  ask 
Meagre  '  to  come  and  stay  at  her  house,  so  that  he 
would  not  believe  that  she  had  made  any  remarks 
about~him ;  that  it  just  took  her  to  "  pull  the  wool 
over"  a  preacher's  eyes,  and  that  she  was  pressing  in 
her  invitation  because  she  knew  well  enough  that  it 
would  not  be  accepted ;  she  expected  to  save  her  meat 
and  her  manners  too.'  " 

"  Why,  Melville ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Middleton,  "why 
in  the  world  have  you  said  nothing  of  this  to  me 
before?" 

"  I  suppose,  my  dear,  I  had  the  same  motive  you 
had  in  saying  nothing  to  me  of  Mrs.  Trimble's  visit 
Neither  of  us  thought  the  matter  of  much  importance, 
and  perhaps  we  both  have  a  disrelish  for  street 
scandal." 

"  But  why  have  you  told  Mr.  Meagre  so  plainly 
what  you  heard?" 

"  Because  he  asked  me  directly,  and  I  could  not  pre- 
varicate. Besides,  I  supposed  that  he  had  some  reason 
for  wishing  to  know  the  whole  truth,  and  I  think  per- 
haps he  ought  to  know  it.  I  am  certain,  too,  that  he 
knows  how  to  estimate  such  things,  and  will  not  allow 
his  mind  to  be  unduly  influenced  by  what  that  poor 
ignorant  woman  has  said." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  the  young  parson.     "  I  call 
upon  Mrs.  Middleton  to  bear  witness  that  I  had  my 
19 


218  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

ideas  of  the  case  before  I  heard  your  testimony ;  and 
I  think  I  would  scarcely  be  fit  to  be  her  pastor,  if  in 
treating  of  Mrs.  Trimble's  malady  I  should  be  actuated 
by  any  feelings  of  resentment." 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Middleton,  "the  diffi- 
culty is  that  Mrs.  Trimble  will  think  you  told  Mr. 
Meagre  what  you  heard." 

"  Sol  did,  when  he  asked  me,"  said  Mr.  Middleton, 
smiling,  "  and  no  doubt  Mrs.  Trimble's  fears  have  been 
excited  in  advance,  for  I  came  out  of  the  office  just  as 
she  had  finished  her  speech,  and  passed  on;  and  Miss 
Needles  turned  back  and  followed  her,  as  I  supposed, 
to  tell  her  that  I  had  been  within  hearing  distance. 
But  the  conversation  was  held  in  such  a  loud  tone  that 
a  person  would  have  had  to  be  deaf  as  an  adder  not 
to  have  heard  it.  I  can  assure  the  woman  that  I  was 
an  unintentional  and  unwilling  auditor." 

"  What  you  have  just  said,"  remarked  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton,  "  accounts  for  a  question  or  two  that  Mrs.  Trimble 
asked  me  yesterday.  She  stopped  me  as  I  came  out 
of  church,  and  inquired  if  I  had  made  her  request 
known  to  Mr.  Meagre,  and  what  he  had  said  about  it. 
I  told  her  that  I  had  done  so,  and  that  he  would  an- 
swer her  in  person.  She  then  asked,  in  her  peculiar 
way,  whether  Mr.  Middleton  did  not  sit  *  right  smart ' 
in  Doctor  Arlington's  office.  I  told  her  he  had  been 
there  a  great  deal  of  late,  helping  the  Doctor  to  make 
some  microscopic  examinations  of  an  insect  they  had 
found  in  the  growing  wheat;  and  then  she  asked  me  if 
he  told  Mr.  Meagre  *  right  smart  of  what  he  heard 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  219 

pooplo  say  when  they  passed  by.'  I  told  her  he  did 
not  generally  do  so.  I  can  now  divine  the  object  of 
her  questions,  although  they  were  mysterious  to  me 
at  the  time  she  put  them." 

Rev.  Petit  declared  himself  satisfied.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Middleton  laughed  heartily,  and  asked  what  action  was 
to  be  taken  in  the  case.  The  young  parson  reaffirmed 
that  his  course  was  marked  out.  He  preferred,  how- 
ever, to  say  nothing  about  it  for  the  present,  as  he 
wished  the  whole  responsibility  to  rest  upon  himself. 
He  thought  he  was  competent  to  settle  the  score. 

The  next  day,  when  about  leaving  for  Gainfield, 
Mr.  Meagre  called  at  Mrs.  Trimble's  door,  and  said 
he  had  heard  of  her  request  and  would  comply  with 
it.  She  could  expect  him  as  her  guest  the  next  time 
he  came  to  Pumbeditha.  When  this  announcement 
was  made,  Mrs.  Trimble  looked  as  if  something  had 
hit  her  right  in  the  forehead ;  and  from  that  moment 
she  was  beset  by  a  terrible  nightmare  feeling,  that  lasted 
until  the  young  parson's  promised  stay  at  her  house 
was  over.  She  was  evidently  "  cotched  in  her  own 
trap,"  as  she  expressed  it  to  Miss  Needles,  "but  then," 
she  added,  "  it's  raal  mean  in  Meagre  to  be  so  deceit- 
ful. He  told  as  how  he  wouldn't  accept  no  invitations 
from  nobody." 

"  0  yes  ;  but  Mrs.  Trimble,"  replied  Miss  Needles, 
"  you  'member  he  said  as  how  if  he  did  'cept  it  must 
be  under  perticler  circumstances,  and  I  reckon  he 
thinks  as  how  them  circumstances  has  ariz.  I  must 
give  Meagre  right,  there." 


220  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

"  Well,  I  thought  he  said  he'd  never  do  it,  and  peo 
pie  ought  to  be  took  at  what  they  says,"  rejoined  Mrs. 
Trimble. 

"  That's  just  Avhat  Meagre's  a  doin',"  said  Miss 
Needles,  "  you  'sisted  on  his  comin',  and  he  thinks  as 
how  you  meant  it ;  but  there's  one  consolation  :  Mid- 
dleton  couldn't  a  told  him  what  you  said  that  day 
comin'  down  street,  or  he'd  a  never  told  you  he'd 
come.  People  says  he's  oncommon  proud  about  goin' 
where  he's  not  welcome." 

"  It  would  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  think  he  didn't 
know  what  I  said  to  you  that  day,"  said  Mrs.  Trimble. 
"  Howsomever,  I'm  in  for  it." 

Mrs.  Trimble  was  in  for  it,  but  she  tried  to  get  out 
of  it.  A  few  days  before  the  time  for  Mr.  Meagre 
to  come,  she  had  a  note  written  to  him.  saying  that 
her  husband  was  at  work  in  the  country,  and  that  they 
had  no  horse  to  go  to  the  cars  for  their  '  beloved  pas- 
tor.' But  for  that  one  thing  she  would  be  glad  to 
have  him  as  a  guest.  But  Rev.  Petit  wrote  back  that 
he  had  often  walked  from  the  depot,  and  could  do  it 
again  ;  and  as  that  was  the  only  difficulty,  Mrs.  Trim- 
ble might  regard  it  as  obviated,  and  expect  him.  He 
also  inclosed  a  note  to  Mrs.  Middleton,  requesting  her 
to  put.  his  wrapper,  slippers,  and  a  few  changes  of 
linen  in  a  basket,  and  send  them  to  Mrs.  Trimble, 
as  he  expected  to  avail  himself  of  that  good  sister's 
proffered  hospitality.  This  note  gave  Mrs.  Middleton 
the  first  intimation  that  she  was  not  to  entertain  her 
pastor  for  once.  Mrs.  Trimble  delivered  the  note 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  221 

herself,  and  intimated  that  she  would  like  to  get  rid 
of  her  bargain,  but  Mrs.  Middleton  declined  to  inter- 
fere with  the  pastor's  arrangements,  and  so  sure 
enough  Mrs.  Trimble  was  "  in  for  it." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE  — SPECIMEN  BRICKS  — 
NO.  2.  THE  OTHER  END  OF  JHE  BRICK. 

THERE  was  no  earthly  use  for  Mrs.  Trimble  to  get 
into  a  flurry  because  her  pastor  had  accepted  her  in- 
vitation to  become  her  guest.  He  was  not  hard  to 
please,  and  she  might  have  entertained  him  to  his 
entire  satisfaction  without  any  trouble  to  herself. 
The  house  she  lived  in  had  plenty  of  spare  room,  and 
her  husband  was  a  good  provider.  To  be  sure  there 
was  no  style  :ibout  their  way  of  living,  but  everything 
was  good  and  substantial,  and  from  the  garret  to  the 
cellar  all  was  neat  and  clean  enough  to  satisfy  the 
most  fastidious  taste.  In  fact,  Mrs.  Trimble  was  one 
of  the  most  particular  of  the  particular  in  this  respect. 
No  trace  of  dirt  was  to  be  found  on  the  bare  space 
around  the  rag  carpet,  or  on  the  door-sills.  The  six 
tumblers,  the  empty  decanter,  and  the  two  wine- 
glasses on  the  bureau  in  the  front  room,  were  all  as 
clear  as  crystal.  Had  the  woman  known  that  a 
19* 


222  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

spider  had  spun  a  web  in  any  corner  of  the  ceiling, 
she  would  have  got  up  at  midnight  to  brush  it  away  ; 
or  had  one  of  the  yellow  wooden  chairs  that  were 
ranged  around  the  walls  been  misplaced,  she  could 
not  have  slept  until  it  was  restored  to  its  exact  posi- 
tion. To  keep  things  in  order  was  the  burden  of 
Mrs.  Trimble's  life ;  she  was  always  cleaning,  and 
never  looking  with  any  degree  of  satisfaction  upon 
what  would  have  satisfied  most  clean  people  —  a  sort 
of  Martha,  cumbered  and  anxious  about  these  things. 
Moreover,  before  her  own  household  and  intimate 
associates  Mrs.  Trimble  was  brave  enough  —  had  a 
great  deal  to  say,  and  no  little  acrimony  in  her  way 
of  saying  it.  Indeed,  she  was  what  the  knowing  ones 
denominated  "a  lemon."  But  before  her  pastor,  or 
any  one  that  she  regarded  as  moving  in  a  higher 
sphere  of  life,  her  lionlike  boldness  was  suddenly 
exchanged  for  the  instinctive  tremor  of  a  hare.  The 
distinction  made  between  people  in  this  respect  was 
entirely  her  own,  and  she  could  not  bring  herself  to 
meet  every  one  in  that  common-sense  way  that  would 
have  put  her  and  everybody  else  at  ease.  Besides, 
in  this  instance  there  was  a  consciousness  that  she 
had  been  guilty  of  speaking  improperly  of  her  pastor  ; 
that  her  motives  had  not  been  pure  in  asking  him  to 
her  house,  and  her  fears  made  a  nervous  coward  of 
her,  for  now  she  was  in  constant  dread  lest  Rev.  Petit 
would  open  his  batteries  upon  her.  "  Hence  these 
tears." 

Mr.  Meagre  had  perhaps  a  more  correct  estimate 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  223 

of  Mrs.  Trimble  than  that  good  woman  had  of  her- 
self. He  was  not  afraid  that  things  would  not  be 
good  enough  for  him.  He  was  certain  that  he  would 
not  have  to  eat  from  a  dusty  plate ;  and  although  he 
might  through  motives  of  kindness  be  required  to 
sleep  upon  feathers  —  his  favorite  abomination,  he 
had  no  fear  that  he  would  be  troubled  with  any  do- 
mestic leeches.  But  he  knew  that  there  was  more  or 
less  irregularity  incident  to  staying  at  strange  places, 
and  above  all,  that  Mrs.  Trimble  would  be  terribly 
embarrassed  by  his  presence,  and  so  he  felt  that  it 
would  have  been  far  better  for  all  parties  if  he  had 
been  left  in  what  the  geologist  would  call  his  "  habi- 
tat." But  Mrs.  Trimble  had  insisted  upon  his  com- 
ing, and  would  unquestionably  make  capital  out  of  it 
if  he  declined,  and  he  therefore  concluded  to  go. 
One  thing  was  certain.  He  had  no  desire  to  make 
the  poor  woman  uncomfortable.  He  might  have 
made  her  feel  like  a  toad  under  a  harrow,  but  that 
would  have  been  cruel  and  sinful,  so  he  resolved  to  be 
as  pleasant  as  possible  —  to  return  good  for  evil,  in 
the  hope  that  his  parishioner  would  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  was  not  a  basilisk,  and  that  she  could 
be  far  more  easy  with  him  under  her  roof  than  if  he 
had  been  a  rattlesnake. 

At  the  proper  time  Rev.  Petit  came  to  Pumbe- 
ditha,  and  went  directly  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Zebedee 
Trimble.  As  was  expected,  the  master  of  the  house 
was  not  at  home,  and  it  devolved  upon  his  wife  to 
meet  the  minister  and  do  the  honors  generally.  Ac- 


224  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

cordingly  when  the  young  parson  entered  the  front 
door,  the  proprietress  of  the  establishment  made  her 
appearance,  wearing  a  smile,  but  evidently  a  forced 
one.  Beneath  it  there  was  a  play  of  nerves  highly 
suggestive  of  the  word  "agony." 

u  Now,  Mrs.  Trimble,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  "  I  am 
here  at  your  own  earnest  request,  and  if  you  allow 
me  to  be  any  trouble  to  you,  it  will  be  entirely  your 
own  fault.  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  never  drink  tea 
nor  coffee,  and  that  you  need"never  boil  a  pot  for  me. 
I  will  be  as  well  satisfied  with  a  roasted  potato  for 
dinner  as  I  would  be  with  canvass-back  ducks,  and 
would  prefer  a  piece  of  bread  and  butter  in  the  even- 
ing to  waffles  and  chickens — the  stereotyped  dish 
with  you  folks  when  you  have  company.  I  have  only 
to  ask  that  you  will  give  me  the  hardest  bed  in  the 
house,  and  plenty  of  cold  water  to  wash  in.  Have 
you  a  bath-tub  ?" 

"  Ya-a-s  sir." 

"Where  is  it?" 

"  We  ain't  got  none." 

"  0,  I  thought  you  said  you  had.  Have  you  a  big 
wash-tub?" 

"No,  we  ain't  got  none  of  them." 

Rev.  Petit  paused.  "  You  have  no  wash-tub  then  ! " 
he  said  at  last. 

"  0  yes,  we  is  got  some." 

"  Very  well.  I  thought  you  said  you  had  not,  but 
if  you  have  it  I  will  thank  you  to  let  me  have  one  in 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  225 

my  room  before  to-morrow  morning.  I  will  carry  the 
water  up  myself." 

Mrs.  Trimble  promised  to  grant  this  boon,  and  the 
young  parson  thanked  her.  She  then  went  out  to  see 
about  her  domestic  affairs,  and  the  Rev.  Petit  was  left 
alone.  He  looked  about  the  room  for  something  to 
read,  and  found  a  country  paper  three  weeks  old,  a 
Franklin  Almanac,  and  a  volume  of  Congressional  Doc- 
uments—  the  latter,  Herndon's  Exploration  of  the 
Amazon,  which  proved  to  be  quite  interesting.  Be- 
sides this,  he  had  a  Testament  in  his  pocket,  and  knew 
he  could  command  a  Bible  in  the  house,  so  that  he 
was  not  likely  to  suffer  for  want  of  literature. 

The,  dinner,  which  was  nearly  prepared  when  Mr. 
Meagre  arrived,  passed  off  well.  Mrs.  Trimble  looked 
as  if  she  "was  about  to  cry  all  the  time,  but  her  pastor 
told  her  an  anecdote  that  came  very  near  making  her 
laugh.  Indeed,  the  youthful  clergyman  did  all  in 
his  power  to  make  his  hostess  feel  easy,  but  it  ap- 
peared that  she  scarcely  knew  her  head  from  her 
heels.  After  dinner  she  felt  herself  driven  by  ne- 
cessity to  put  on  her  best  bonnet  and  run  up  the 
back  way  even  to  Mrs.  Middleton,  to  ask  her  "  what 
them  things  was  Mr.  Mi-agre  was  so  fond  of."  She 
had  "allowed  to  give  him  waffles  and  chickens  for 
supper,"  but  he  wanted  a  dish  of  "steer  tripe  in  a 
canvass  bag."  She  "spected  it  must  be  cooked  like 
old  Mrs.  Britton  did  the  plutn-puddiri'  at  Christmas." 

Mrs.  Mi'idleton  told  her  there  must  be  some  mistake, 
and  assured  her  that  unless  Mr.  Meagre  had  changed 


226  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

very  much  in  three  weeks,  he  would  be  satisfied  with 
anything.  Mr.  Meagre  called  at  Mr.  Middleton's  a 
few  hours  after  Mrs.  Trimble  had  left,  and  explained 
the  mystery.  There  was  no  use  to  try  to  explain  it 
to  Mrs.  Trimble.  Every  effort  at  that  only  pushed 
her  more  deeply  into  the  mire.  Eight  or  ten  times 
the  young  functionary  remarked  that  he  liked  to  eat 
just  what  the  families  with  whom  he  was  staying  would 
have  cooked  for  themselves  if  he  had  not  been  there  ; 
but  Mrs.  Trimble  only  stared  incredulously,  and  would 
persist  in  getting  into  a  flurry. 

Once,  about  four  o'clock,  the  good  woman  put  her 
head  into  the  door,  timidly,  to  see  if  the  animal  she 
had  left  there  was  safe,  and  free  from  any  signs  of  a 
dangerous  outbreak. 

"Please  send  the  children  in  to  me,"  said  the  young 
parson. 

"  Ya-a-s  sir.  Sol'mon  and  Dan'l,  come  here ;  the 
min'ster  wants  you." 

At  the  word  of  command  Sol'mon  and  Dan'l  ap- 
proached, and  their  mother  withdrew.  The  little 
fellows,  who  had  very  pretty  faces,  and  were  plainly 
but  cleanly  dressed,  stopped  right  inside  of  the  door, 
and  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  come  nearer  to  the 
man  who  had  them  under  his  pastoral  charge,  and 
could  have  loved  them  on  that  account  if  for  no  other. 
The  youthful  shepherd  went  through  the  usual  routine 
of  coaxing,  but  with  apparently  little  success.  He 
gave  this  up  at  last  and  took  to  his  book,  hoping  that 
if  left  alone  the  gentle  lambs  would  grow  less  timid  by 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  227 

degrees.  In  the  course  of  fifteen  minutes  he  happened 
to  take  his  eyes  from  the  page,  and  Sol'mon,  the  younger 
of  the  two,  had  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the  room.  He 
had  one  thumb  in  each  corner  of  his  mouth,  stretching 
it  wide  open,  while  with  his  front  fingers  he  pulled 
down  the  skin  beneath  his  eyes — trying  thus  to  attain 
to  a  raw-head  and  bloody-bones  appearance  that  he 
fancied  would  either  amuse  or  frighten  his  clerical 
friend.  The  Rev.  Petit  had  seen  children  do  this  be- 
fore, but  the  fact  that  it  was  now  done  for  his  special 
benefit  struck  him  so  comically  that  he  broke  out  into 
a  sudden  snorting  laugh,  which  frightened  the  poor 
child  half  to  death,  and  made  him  scream  with  terror. 
The  elder  brother  joined  in  ready  chorus,  and  the 
mother,  hearing  the  alarm,  ran  to  the  rescue. 

The  scene  was  ridiculous  enough.  Mr.  Meagre  said 
that  he  had  unintentionally  frightened  the  little  boy, 
and  the  little  boy's  mother  said,  "  There  was  no  use 
for  Sol'mon  to  git  skeered  at  a  min'ster."  The  "min- 
'ster  "  had  an  idea  that  Sol'mon's  mother  was  more 
badly  "skeered  "  than  Sol'mon.  She  was  about  to  lead 
the  juveniles  out  of  the  room,  but  as  Rev.  Petit  thought 
she  was  going  to  flog  them  unnecessarily,  he  insisted 
upon  it  that  they  should  be  allowed  to  remain ;  and 
going  to  his  linen  overcoat,  he  produced  a  brace  of  fine 
oranges,  which  mollified  the  fears  of  the  little  ones, 
and  made  them  his  fast  friends  forever. 

"  There  now,"  Said  Mrs.  Trimble,  as  Sol'mon  and 
Dan'l  went  to  work  on  the  golden  fruit,  "  be  good  boys, 
and  don't  go  so  near  Mr.  Afeagre  when  you  are  a  eatin'. 


228  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

You'll  spile  his  clothes.  I  always  did  say  a  min'ster 
ought  to  wear  fine  clothes,  and  that  I  didn't  like  to 
see  'em  siled." 

"Did  you?"  Mr.  Meagre  could  not  but  ask,  as  he 
looked  into  the  woman's  face. 

Mrs.  Trimble's  eye  blenched.  She  looked  as  if  she 
remembered  that  she  had  not  always  said  so,  but  her 
pastor  relieved  her  embarrassment  by  changing  the 
subject  of  conversation. 

No  doubt  Mrs.  Trimble  felt  that  day  the  truth  of 
the  proverb,  "Misfortunes  come  not  singly."  From 
the  time  that  her  beloved  pastor  had  entered  the  house 
everything  had  gone  wrong,  and  the  end  of  evils  was 
not  yet.  As  has  been  intimated,  waffles  and  fried 
chicken  were  on  the  bill  of  fare  for  that  evening,  and, 
as  a  general  thing,  Mrs.  Trimble  had  no  difficulty  in 
preparing  them.  But  that  day  Mrs.  Trimble's  fire 
would  not  burn,  and  her  chimney  would  smoke.  Mrs. 
Trimble  seemed  to  think  that  the  fire  had  a  will,  and 
was  stubborn.  Indeed,  she  declared  that  his  Satanic 
majesty  was  in  the  fire  and  in  the  chimney,  and  had 
she  been  able,  she  would  have  knocked  the  laws  of 
nature  into  a  cocked  hat,  and  made  the  fire  burn  in 
spite  of  the  wise  and  benignant  principles  according 
to  which  such  things  are  regulated. 

The  difficulties  just  mentioned  had,  however,  been 
overcome.  The  coals  had  at  last  been  put  under  the 
wood,  the  wood  had  become  dry  and  commenced  to 
blaze.  The  chimney  had  become  warm,  and  the  smoke 
curled  beautifully  out  of  the  top  of  it.  Everything 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  PEOPLE.  229 

was  going  on  "right,"  when  Mrs.  Trimble  was  called 
from  the  kitchen  by  the  shrieks  of  her  little  boys.  But 
when  she  returned  she  suspected  that  the  girl  was 
allowing  the  chicken  to  burn.  Mrs.  Trimble,  in  a  fit 
of  excitement,  went  to  push  her  away,  and  upset  the 
gravy.  Then  Mrs.  Trimble  did  certainly  lose  her  tem- 
per, and  angrily  ordered  "  Suse  "  to  go  for  cream  to 
make  more.  When  "  Suse  "  returned  Mrs.  Trimble 
attempted  to  snatch  it  out  of  her  hand,  and  knocked 
it  on  to  the  floor,  breaking  the  cup,  and  spilling  what 
the  exquisite  called  the  "extract  of  the  cow"  on  the 
newly  scoured  boards.  It  was  the  last  that  Mrs.  Trim- 
ble had  in  the  house,  and  it  became  apparent  that 
"  Suse  "  would  have  to  go  to  one  of  the  neighbors  to 
bog,  borrow,  or  buy  some  more.  Mrs.  Trimble  raged 
like  a  tempest  in  a  tea-kettle.  She  fairly  boiled  over, 
and  poor  Suse  had  to  take  the  scalding  vapors  of  her 
wrath.  The  unfortunate  domestic  was  called  "awk- 
ward" and  "good-for-nothing."  Suse  in  turn  became 
obstreperous,  and  threatened  to  leave  on  the  spot. 
Mrs.  Trimble  wished  all  the  preachers  were  in  Jericho; 
she  was  sure  she  did  not  thank  any  of  them  for  coming 
near  her,  and  then  the  amiable  hostess  was  ready  to 
go  through  the  "floor  when  made  aware  that  the  doors 
were  open,  and  her  pastor  had  probably  heard  every- 
thing she  said. 

Mr.  Meagre  had  heard  it  all,  and  pitied  the  woman 

from  his  heart.     He  wished  he  had  not  accepted  her 

invitation,  not  because  of  what  she  had  just  said,  for 

that  was  all  fun,  and  did  not  take  away  his  appetite,9 

20 


230  .  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

but  because  he  saw  that  his  parishioner  was  stinging 
herself  almost  to  death. 

A  little  later  it  was  found  that  all  of  the  fuss  was 
for  nothing.  When  the  chicken  was  brought  to  the 
table,  it  was  evidently  not  burned  at  all.  But  Mrs. 
Trimble's  face  was  very  red. 

After  supper  things  went  on  a  little  better.  The 
young  parson  tried  his  best  to  play  the  agreeable,  and 
Mrs.  Trimble  became  more  calm  and  collected.  Be- 
sides, "  Zeb'dee  "  came  home  that  evening,  and  relieved 
his  wife  of  the  duty  of  entertaining  her  pet  preacher. 
Brother  "Zeb'dee"  was  a  plain,  quiet  man,  and  with 
him  Mr.  Meagre  spent  that  beautiful  evening  very 
pleasantly.  After  prayers  the  two  went  out  on  the 
back  porch  and  talked  about  "bissness,"  the  "  craps,"  . 
and  the  "  meetin'." 

"Bin  very  mooney  to-night,"  said  Mr.  Trimble, 
about  the  time  it  was  thought  to  be  late  enough  to 
retire.  M 

"  Yes  sir  :  the  moon  is  very  bright,"  said  the  young 
parson. 

"  Quite  a  mackeral  sky,  too,"  said  Mr.  Trimble. 

"  Yes  sir :  very  beautifully  mottled,"  said  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Think  we'll  have  some  kind  of  "weather  soon," 
opined  Mr.  Trimble. 

"  Quite  likely,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  as  the  parties 
carried  their  "  cheers  "  into  the  house  and  started  for 
bed. 

The  young  parson  asked  for  a  long  candle,  and  his 
request  was  granted.  When  he  got  to  his  chamber, 


EFFORTS    TO    PLEASE    THE    PEOPLE.. 231 

he  found  that  Mrs.  Trimble's  nervous  fears  had  led 
her  to  misapprehend  his  desires  in  regard  to  his  sleep- 
ing arrangements  as  well  as  everything  else.  There 
was  no  prospect  of  a  morning  bath,  but  a  tremendous 
feather  bed  had  been  placed  there  to  receive  his  little 
body.  Mrs.  Trimble  had  probably  an  idea  that  he  had 
taken  especial  pains  to  tell  her  that  he  would  not  like 
to  have  a  tub  placed  in  his  room,  and  so  she  only  fur- 
nished him  with  a  little  blue-ringed  pitcher  that  would 
hold  a  quart  of  water.  Upon  examination,  however, 
it  was  found  that  there  was  a  bag  of  chaff  under  the 
feathers,  and  upon  this  Rev.  Petit  thought  he  could 
rest  comfortably.  He  resolved,  too,  to  get  through 
with  his  ablutions  as  well  as  possible  in  the  morning, 
and  go  up  to  Mr.  Middleton's  after  breakfast  for  a 
regular  plunge. 

As,  however,  the  young  incumbent  had  no  idea  of 
going  to  sleep  immediately,  he  placed  his  candle  on 
the  end  of  the  mantel  near  the  head  of  the  bed,  said 
his  prayers,  unrobed  himself,  and  laid  down  to  read. 
Before  a  great  while  he  was  so  much  disturbed  by  the 
musquitocs  that  came  in  through  the  open  window, 
that  he  was  obliged  to  put  out  the  light  and  smoke  a 
cigar  to  get  rid  of  them.  After  that  he  lay  and  looked 
out  upon  the  "mooney  "  scene  and  "mackeral  sky," 
until  he  fell  into  a  gentle  slumber. 

It  had  been  comparatively  easy  to  pull  the  feather 
bed  down  on  the  floor,  but  the  next  morning  Rev.  Petit 
found  it  so  large  and  unwieldy  that  he  could  not  get 
it  up  again.  At  night  he  found  that  some  one  had 


232  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

done  it  for  him,  and  that  person  or  some  one  else  had 
to  do  it  over  agayi  the  next  morning,  and  so  on  after 
every  night  that  the  young  parson  slept  in  the  house 
of  "Zeb'dee." 

Mrs.  Trimble  did  not  enjoy  herself  very  much  during 
the  time  that  Mr.  Meagre  was  her  guest,  and  was  glad 
when  he  was  obliged  to  leave  for  Gainfield.  When 
about  to  take  his  departure  he  asked  her  whether  he 
should  leave  his  wrapper  and  slippers  where  they  were, 
or  send  them  back  to  Mrs.  Middleton.  The  poor  wo- 
man, not  knowing  what  answer  to  give,  simply  drawled 
out,  "Si-r-r-r?" 

.  "Shall  I  come  here  next  time?"  asked  the'Rev. 
Petit. 

"  Spect  I'll  be  all  upside  down.  Goin'  to  bile  apple- 
butter,"  stammered  Mrs.  Trimble. 

"What!  so  early?"  asked  his  reverence. 

"  Children's  gittin'  a  breakin'  out.  Spect  they'll 
have  the  measles  'bout  then,"  said  the  poor  woman, 
shifting  her  ground. 

The  young  parson  thought  it  was  perhaps  unchari- 
table to  throw  the  responsibility  of  determining  his 
future  whereabouts  upon  his  hostess,  and  besides  he 
was  quite  anxious  to  get  back  to  his  old  quarters. 
So  he  said  he  would  go  to  Mr.  Middleton's,  but  told 
Mrs.  Trimble  that  if  ever  she  wanted  him  again  she 
should  only  come  and  invite  him. 

Mrs.  Trimble  never  did  so.  She  Avas  kind  enough 
to  say,  however,  that  "  the  little  min'ster  would  be 
nice  to  have  about  the  house  if  a  body  wasn't  so  much 


UNFRIENDLY    RELATIONS.  233 

afeerd.  He's  a  little  onrestless  at  night,  and  throws 
the  feathers  off  a"  good  deal,  but  that  aint  nothin' ; 
and  it's  a  body's  own  fault  if  they  git  worried.  Often 
thought  it  was  a  punishment  on  me  that  I  was  so 
flustered,  'cause  I  'sisted  on  his  comin  when  I  didn't 
want  him,  and  I've  larned  that  a  body  don't  gain 
nothin'  by  bein'  a  hyp'crite." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

UNFRIENDLY  RE L A TIONS  — TONY  TOMPKINS  — 
A   BRICK   IN   HIS   HAT. 

ADAM  KRIME  and  Christopher  Ludwig  owned  and 
occupied  adjoining  farms,  and  ought  to  have  lived 
together  as  quiet  and  peaceable  neighbors.  But 
these  two  old  men  once  had  a  notorious  quarrel,  grow- 
ing out  of  a  case  of  trespass.  Mr.  Krime's  hogs  got 
into  Mr.  Ludwig's  cornfield  one  day,  and  did  a  great 
deal  of  damage,  which  was  provoking  enough ;  but 
whether  the  injury  was  not  attributable  to  the  bad 
condition  of  Mr.  Ludwig's  fences,  rather  than  to  any 
uncommon  propensity  in  Mr.  Krime's  hogs  for  which 
their  owner  was  to  tlame,  was  the  mooted  point.  Mr. 
Ludwig  alleged  that  if  Mr.  Krime  would  feed  his  hogs 
at  home,  they  would  not  break  into  other  people's  en- 
closures in  search  of  something  to  live.  upon.  But 
20* 


234  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

Mr.  Krime  felt  that  the  charge  of  neglecting  his  stock 
was  a  slander  so  patent  to  the  community,  that  he 
contented  himself  with  retorting  that  if  he  had  a  mill 
and  could  feed  other  people's  grain,  it  would  be  an 
easy  matter  to  keep  his  hogs  home. 

As  might  have  been  expected,  the  breach  thus 
opened 'was  not  easily  healed.  There  were  not  only 
mutterings  of  wrath,  but  once  or  twice  the  gates  of 
Janus  were  thrown  wide  open  and  the  parties  pro- 
ceeded to  actual  war,  which  led  to  litigations,  and 
made  the  feud  a  chronic  one. 

The  extent  to  which  the  difficulty  was  carried  was 
due,  in  a  great  measure,  to  one  Anthony  Tompkins  — 
a  rare  old  fellow,  of  whom  a  passing  notice  must  be 
taken.  Uncle  Tony,  as  he  was  familiarly  called,  was 
a  celebrated  wag.  He  usually  acted  as  an  ostler  at 
the  tavern,  but  sometimes  dug  the  gardens  about  town 
and  helped  the  neighboring  farmers  to  plough  and 
gather  their  crops.  For  the  first  of  these  employ- 
ments he  manifested  a  decided  preference,  as  it  not 
only  gave  him  time  and  opportunity  for  an  occasional 
chat  with  the  old  cronies  who  gathered  around,  but 
put  him  in  the  way  of  getting  many  a  dram  at  the 
expense  of  those  who  came  there  to  wet  their  own 
whistles.  It  was  said,  upon  undoubted  authority,  that 
once  or  twice,  in  a  decade  of  years,  Tony  had  been 
quite  sober.  But  the  words,  "slightly  inebriated," 
expressed  his  usual  condition,  if  not  his  normal  state, 
Although  he  occasionally  was  so  overcome  by  certain 
influences,  that  Brutus  like,  he  would 


TONYTOMPKINS.  235 

"Greet  the  earth  —  his  mother." 

Mr.  Tompldns  had  a  great  deal  of  droll  humor,  and 
was  fond  of  taking  the  advantage  of  credulous  people. 
He  could  tell  a  long-drawn  story,  or  suggest  a  qjiaint, 
mischievous  idea  by  a  mere  passing  remark  or  innuendo, 
with  such  imperturbable  gravity,  that  even  those  whose 
experience  led  them  to  doubt  his  veracity  were  reas- 
sured simply  by  looking  at  him. 

As  a  general  thing,  too,  he  succeeded  in  clothing 
his  thoughts  in  language  that  had  a  double  meaning, 
thus  preserving  the  form  of  truth  while  there  was  in 
his  whole  spirit  the  essential  essence  of  a  lie ;  and 
when  taken  to  an  account  for  what  he  had  said,  he 
usually  fell  back  upon  his  "  very  words,"  and  contended 
that  his  meaning  had  been  entirely  misapprehended. 

It  was  Tony  who  told  old  Mr.  Gottlieb  that  Mr.  Mea- 
gre's  silk  dressing-gown,  velvet  smoking-cap,  and  em- 
broidered slippers,  were  the  habiliments  of  a  conjuror, 
and  excited  the  fear  that  some  evil  was  to  be  appre- 
hended through  the  agency  of  the  young  divine.  In- 
deed, it  was  even  intimated  that  Anthony  had  levied 
black  mail  upon  the  old  landlord,  and  got  his  flask 
filled  more  than  once  by  hinting  that  he  had  some  kind 
of  moral  or  magical  influence  over  Rev.  Petit,  and 
could  get  "him  to  practise  or  desist  from  his  occult  arts 
at  any  time.  ^ 

And  yet  Mr.  Tompkins  professed  to  have  a  great 
respect  for  the  young  parson.  He  took  off  his  hat 
and  made  a  low  bow  whenever  he  p6Med  him.  :i'  d 
seemed  quite  jealous  of  his  good  opinion. 


236  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

One  day  Mr.  Meagre  met  the  old  man  "  weaving 
his  winding  way  "  through  one  of  the  back  streets. 
This  meeting  w:is  unexpected  to  Tony,  but  he  had 
enough  presence  of  mind,  ready  wit,  and  control  >f 
body,  to  change  his  stagger  into  a  limp  and  mutter 
something  about  "  tight  shoes." 

The  young  parson  smiled  and  passed  on,  but  came 
across  Tony  a  few  days  afterwards  at  the  village  black- 
smith shop. 

"  Uncle  Tony,"  he  asked,  "  why  do  you  not  quit 
wearing  'tight  shoes '  and  come  to  church?" 

Tony  paid  no  attention  to  $he  first  part  of  the  ques- 
tion, but  said  in  reply  to  the  latter  part  of  it,  "  I've 
got  such  a  sore  eye." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  it  ?  " 
"  I  hurt  it  taking  in  corn,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Uncle  Tony,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "  I  wish  you  would 
answer  me  one  question." 

"Very  well,  your  reverence,  what  is  it?" 
"  Did  not  that  corn  pass  through  a  still-pipe  before 
you  took  it  in  ?  " 

Mr.  Tompkins  was  taken  all  aback,  and  racked  his 
brain  for  an  evasive  reply;  but  finding  none,  said,  half 
coaxingly,  "  Mr.  Meagre,  please  put  that  question  a 
little  different." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  young  parson.  "Did  you 
dot  hurt  your  eye  taking  in  corn  after  it  had  been 
distilled?" 

"Knock  under,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  Tony,  "won't 


OPEN    HOSTILITIES.  237 

take  in  any  more  that  way,  and  the  next  time  you 
meet  me  there  won't  be  anything  '  tight '  about  me." 
If  Mr.  Tompkins  had  not  a  bottle  in  his  pocket, 
he  probably  kept  his  promise  not  to  drink  any  more 
—  till  he  got  back  to  the  tavern.  He  afterwards  said 
the  little  preacher  was  a  "  dead  shot,"  and  probably 
believed  his  own  words,  as  he  was  very  careful  not  to 
come  within  range  for  some  time. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

OPEN    HOSTILITIES. 

Now  the  two  men  that  Anthony  Tompkins  delighted 
to  tease  above  all  others,  were  Adam  Krime  and  Chris- 
topher Ludwig,  and  the  difficulty  between  them  af- 
forded a  prolific  occasion  for  him  to  do  so.  To  excite 
the  wrath  of  the  one  and  the  fears  of  the  other  was  a 
favorite  pastime  with  him.  Each  party  was  induced 
to  tell  him  his  version  of  the  matter,  and  was  told  in 
return  of  some  boast  or  threat  purporting  to  come 
from  the  other,  that  only  served  as  fuel  to  the  flame. 

In  all  of  this  the  quasi  friend  of  the  belligerents 
was  not  actuated  by  any  feeling  of  malice,  but  simply 
by*a  spirit  of  fun,  which  was  nevertheless  reprehensi- 
ble, because  it  led  to  a  great  deal  of  evil.  One  elec- 
tion day  he  persuaded  Mr.  Ludwig  that  Mr.  Krime 


238  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

was  very  much  afraid  he  would  give  him  a  thrashing 
—  an  entire  misrepresentation,  as  Mr.  Krime  had  a 
great  deal  the  more  grit  of  the  two,  although  much 
the  older  and  weaker  man.  Mr.  Ludwig  was  thus  in- 
duced to  attack  him,  and  the  two  got  into  a  regular 
fist  fight.  Of  course  this  disgraceful  proceeding  was 
soon  stopped,  and  Mr.  Ludwig  was  glad  of  it,  for  he 
had  been  led  to  underrate  the  courage  of  his  antago- 
nist. 

Tony  ran  around  and  made  a  great  show  of  trying 
to  separate  them  after  some  one  else  had  performed 
that  duty.  He  caught  hold  of  Christopher's  coat 
tail,  calling  out,  "  Hold  'em,  hold  'em." 

"Ya,  ya,  holt  us,"  said  Ludwig.  "Two  of  you 
shall  holt  Grime,  one's  genug  zu  holt  me." 

The  blame  of  this  disreputable  affair  was  properly 
put  upon  Mr.  Tompkins,  who  assumed  an  air  of  in- 
jured innocence,  and  when  that  failed  him,  he  plead 
that  he  "know'd  they  couldn't  hurt  one  another  more 
nor  two  old  dogs  that  had  no  teeth."  Alas !  Tony 
did  not  see  the  effect  of  angry  passion  upon  the  moral 
nature  of  his  friends,  and  upon  the  community  at 
large.  So  completely  had  his  own  moral  sense  be- 
come blunted! 

After  this,  as  may  be  supposed,  the  love  between 
Mr.  Krime  and  Mr.  Ludwig  did  not  increase  much. 
They  often  shook  their  canes  angrily  at  one  another 
as  they  passed  on  horseback,  but  there  was  not  an- 
other real  battle  for  nearly  a  year,  when  one  took 
place  that  might  easily  have  ended  seriously. 


OPEN    HOSTILITIES.  H39 

One  afternoon,  late  in  the  following  summer,  Mr. 
Krime  was  at  his  spring  getting  a  drink  of  water,  and 
as  he  was  about  hanging  up  the  gourd  he  had  been 
using,  the  barking  of  dogs,  the  squeal  of  hogs,  and 
yells  of  Mr.  Ludwig,  sounded  over  the  meadow  loud 
enough  to  strike  the  tympanums  of  his  almost  deaf 
ears.  He,  of  course,  knew  what  was  going  on,  and 
with  all  the  celerity  that  his  infirm  bo«ly  was  capable 
of,  went  into  the  house,  took  down  his  gun  from  the 
prongs  on  the  board  partition,  put  his  hair  pouch  and 
his  powder-horn  over  his  shoulder,  and  started  for  the 
scene  of  action. 

His  approach  was  so  screened  by  the  bushes  and 
tall  corn,  that  his  enemy,  who  was  urging  on  the  dogs, 
did  not  see  him  until  he  emerged  from  his  cover  about 
twenty  feet  before  him.  Then  Christopher  Ludwig 
suddenly  felt  that  his  time  on  earth  was  over.  He 
would  have  begged  for  mercy,  but  his  "  voice  stuck  to 
his  jaws." 

With  trembling  hand,  but  deliberate  intention,  Mr. 
Krime  took  aim  at  his  adversary  and  fired,  but  for- 
tunately for  all  parties,  his  arm  was  so  palsied  by  age 
that  he  could  not  hold  the  piece  on  a  level  with  his 
eye,  and  by  the  time  he  drew  the  trigger  the  muzzle 
had  been  so  depressed  by  gravitation  that  it  was  within 
six  inches  of  the  ground,  and  the  load  ploughed  up 
the  dust  at  his  feet.  The  recoil  of  the  gun  knocked 
Mr.  Krime  head  over  heels,  and  Mr.  Ludwig  retreated 
with  all  possible  dispatch.  He  mounted  his  horse  as 
soon  as  he  got  home,  and  taking  a  circuitous  route 


240  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

came  to  the  village  to  "swear  his  life"  against  his 
neighbor.  His  frightened  look  and  awful  story,  soon 
collected  a  large  number  of  loafers  and  boys  around 
the  magistrate's  office.  While  the  justice  of  the  peace 
was  trying  to  get  a  clear  statement  of  the  difficulty, 
Tony  Tompkins  called  out  from  the  crowd,  "  Take 
care ;  don't  let  Adam  Krime  in  with  that  gun  ! " 

That  was  enough  for  Mr.  Ludwig.  He  got  out  of 
the  back  door  and  ran  away. 

Tony  said  he  "  went  so  fast  that  his  coat  tail  stuck 
out  straight  enough  for  the  boys  to  play  marbles  on 
it,"  but  Tony  was  lying  —  under  a  mistake,  for  Mr. 
Ludwig  had  no  coat  on.  He  did  run,  however,  as  fast 
as  he  could  until  he  got  to  his  horse,  then  mounted  and 
went  home  by  a  more  direct  way  than  that  over  which 
he  had  come.  Once  safely  in  his  own  house  he  barri- 
caded the  doors  and  prepared  himself  generally  for  a 
siege,  and  for  the  next  six  months  he  moved  about  his 
farm  with  the  caution  of  an  early  settler,  fearful  that 
every  bush  might  hide  a  tattooed  savage  armed  with 
poisoned  arrows,  a  tomahawk,  and  scalping  knife. 

But  Mr.  Ludwig  had  not  left  the  town  fifteen  min- 
utes before  his  infuriated  rival  entered  it.  He  too  had 
come  "  to  dake  de  law ; "  was  willing  to  be  qualified 
that  Ludwig  had  knocked  him*  down  with  a  stone,  and 
showed  his  face  bruised  by  the  breech  of  the  gun,  as 
evidence  in  the  case. 

The  magistrate  saw  fit  to  bind  both  parties  over  to 
keep  the  peace.  Not  satisfied  with  this,  they  carried 
the  case  to  a  higher  court,  where  it  was  "  continued 


EFFORTS  TO  PLKASE  THE  LITTLE  FOLKS.  241 

over  "  for  several  terms,  when  it  was  determined  by 
awarding  to  one  of  the  belligerents  one  cent  damage, 
and  requiring  each  to  pay  his  own  costs  —  an  amount 
that  exceeded  Rev.  Petit  Meagre's  salary  by  about  one 
hundred  dollars. 

As  intimated  before,  the  feud  became  chronic ;  and 
there  would,  perhaps,  have  been  no  abatement  of  the 
outward  manifestation  of  mutual  hate,  had  it  not  been 
thought  necessary  to  form  an  alliance  to  put  down  a 
common  enemy. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  LITTLE  FOLKS. 

IF  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  had  a  ruling  passion,  it  was, 
perhaps,  love  for  little  children.  He  knew  all  the 
Charlies  and  Hatties  in  the  neighborhood,  and  scraped 
an  acquaintance  with  every  two  year  old  that  would 
play  with  him  over  the  back  of  a  car  seat  when  he 
travelled.  No  lovelier  sight  for  him  than  that  pre- 
sented by  the  bright  little  creatures,  who,  fresh  from 
their  afternoon  baths,  played  in  front  of  the  houses 
on  the  fine  summer  evenings.  Yea,  he  felt  an  interest 
even  in  the  little  back  street  urchins  if  they  showed 
any  positive  character,  and  had  their  faces  and  clothes 
soiled  with  nothing  but  clean  dirt ;  that  is,  with  pure 
21 


242  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

clay  or  mud  without  any  admixture  of  molasses  and 
applebutter.  Indeed,  the  young  parson's  propensity 
to  form  intimacies  with  such  juveniles  had  become 
notorious.  He  had  played  ball  with  his  Sunday 
school,  and  bearded  his  whole  vestry  on  the  subject 
at  an  early  period  of  his  pastorate.  He  had  upset 
Mrs.  Rate's  ideas  of  propriety  on  the  willow  whistle 
question.  He  had  even  bought  marbles  for  little 
Dick  Spaddle  around  in  Cow  Alley,  and  done  many 
other  things  not  recorded  in  this  book,  but  treasured 
up  in  the  minds  of  his  people. 

But  Rev.  Petit  had  an  inner  circle  of  young  friends 
—  little  favorites  of  his  own  selection,  who  came  to 
his  room,  built  houses  of  his  books,  and  played  under 
his  study  table  with  impunity.  With  these  the  young 
parson  lived  his  boy-life  over  again,  entering  into  all 
of  their  innocent  amusements,  sympathizing  with  them 
in  all  their  little  world  of  care,  making  kites,  mending 
tops,  and,  tell  it  not  in  Grath !  even  rolling  over  the 
floor  at  times  in  a  general  tussle.  Between  the 
youthful  shepherd  and  some  of  these  lambs,  there 
grew  up  a  feeling  and  an  interest  that  was  almost 
vital. 

Among  the  little  ones  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
climbing  upon  the  young  parson's  lap,  or  standing  by 
his  chair  and  hugging  him,  were  Paul  and  Clarence 
Winthrop,  two  of  Dr.  Arlington's  grand-children. 
Paul  was  every  inch  a  boy,  but  staid  and  thoughtful, 
debating  everything  before  he  entered  into  it,  and 
then  going  ahead  with  all  the  earnestness  of  a  states- 


EFFORTS   TO    PLE^ASE   THE   LITTLE  JFOLKS.  243 

man  who  feels  that  the  destiny  of  nations  is  staked 
upon  an  issue ;  and  Clarence,  a  fair-haired,  blue-eyed 
little  enthusiast,  so  nervous  that  his  mother  said  a 
cup  of  strong  tea  or  coffee  would  make  him  as  drunk 
as  a  fiddler. 

Late  one  winter  the  Rev.  Petit  was  storm-stayed 
at  Pumbeditha  beyond  his  usual  time,  and  the  little 
Winthrops  were  with  him  a  great  deal.  One  after- 
noon he  induced  the  youngsters  to  show  all  the  things 
in  their  pockets,  and  along  with  the  eight-by-ten 
handkerchiefs,  straps,  strings,  nails,  screws,  pencils, 
and  other  articles  usually  found  in  a  boy's  depository 
for  his  personal  property,  Clarence  pulled  out  a  few 
strips  of  fine  French  tissue  paper. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that,  Clarence  ? "  asked  his 
reverence. 

"  Ma  had  it  to  cover  her  gilt  frames,"  replied  the 
boy. 

"  Has  she  any  big  sheets  of  it  ?  "  asked  Rev.  Petit. 

"  0  yes,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  Paul,  "  I  saw  it  in  the 
bottom  of  her  wardrobe,  and  we  brought  this  up  to 
ask  if  it  wouldn't  make  first  rate  kites." 

"  Yes,  Paul,"  said  Rev.  Petit ;  "  and  if  your  ma  has 
about  two  quires  of  it,  and  will  give  it  to  you,  I  will 
make  you  a  balloon." 

Paul  stopped  to  inquire  how  the  balloon  was  to  be 
made,  and  if  it  would  really  go  up  into  the  air,  but 
Clarence  darted  off  like  a  rocket  to  ask  his  mother ; 
and  by  the  time  his  brother  had  his  mind  satisfied  and 


244  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

was  going  after  him,  he  met  him  returning  with  the 
paper  under  his  arm. 

"  Ma  says  we  are  welcome  to  it,"  said  the  little  fel- 
low, as,  panting  with  haste  and  excitement,  he  placed 
the  package  in  Mr.  Meagre's  hands. 

"Your  Ma  is  very  kind,  boys,"  said  the  young  par- 
son. "  This  paper  is  of  a  beautiful  quality,  and  just 
the  colors  I  wanted  —  blue,  and  red,  and  yellow.  I 
will  alternate  them,  and  then  the  balloon  will  be  very 
pretty  when  it  is  lighted  up." 

Rev.  Petit  had  some  reputation  as  a  paper  balloon 
builder  when  a  school-boy,  and  calling  to  his  aid  his 
former  experience  and  tact,  he  soon  constructed  a  very 
prettily  shaped  one  —  "just  like  the  picture  in  the 
Penny  Gazette,"  as  the  boys  said. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  send  her  up,  Mr.  Meagre  ?" 
asked  Paul. 

"  If  I  can  get  some  wire,  a  piece  of  sponge,  and 
some  alcohol,  I  will  be  ready  this  evening  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  you  had  better  have  your  little  friends 
assemble  at  that  hour  on  your  back  veranda." 

The  wire,  the  sponge,  and  the  alcohol  were  easily 
obtained,  and  at  the  appointed  time  there  was  quite  a 
collection  of  "  wee  folk  "  at  the  place  of  rendezvous. 
The  young  parson  suggested  that  the  balloon  should 
be  named  "  the  Lillie,"  in  honor  of  a  Miss  Winthrop 
of  two  summers,  whose  bright  eyes  were  peering  from 
a  blanket  shawl  in  which  her  mother  had  her  wrapped. 

'•  Now  whom  will  I  get  to  hold  the  Lillie  up  ?  "  asked 


EFFORTS  TO  PLEASE  THE  LITTLE  FOLKS.  245 

the  reverend  master  of  ceremonies.  "  Is  Mr.  Winthrop 
not  at  home?"  he  inquired  of  Mrs.  Winthrop.  '-.  •  • 

"  I  am  sorry  that  he  cannot  be  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Winthrop,  who  stood  by  sharing  the  pleasure  of  the 
little  ones. 

"Are  none  of  your  workmen  about  ?  It  will  require 
a  grown  person  to  hold  the  balloon  up  while  I  inflate 
it,  as  it  is  full  six  feet  in  length,"  said  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Uncle  Tony  Tompkins  is  in  the  kitchen.  Been 
burning  brush  to-day  out  on  the  farm,"  exclaimed 
Clarence,  and  running  in  he  "  produced  "  the  old  man. 

"  Uncle  Tony,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "just  get  on  this 
box  and  hold  up  this  balloon.  Take  hold  of  the  crown 
with  your  thumb  and  finger.  It  will  'bear  up,'  Uncle 
Tony,  but  do  not  let  it  go  until  I  tell  you  to  do  so." 

Mr.  Tompkins  politely  acceded  to  the  request, 
"  What  in  the  world  are  you  burning  down  there  that 
makes  you  all  look  so  green,  Mr.  Meagre  ?"  he  asked. 

"Spirits  of  wine,"  replied  the  young  parson.  UI 
thought  you  were  familiar  with  everything  of  that  kind." 

"  Will  the  spirits  fill  the  balloon  ?"  asked  Uncle  Tony. 

"  Yes  sir,"  replied  Rev.  Petit,  carelessly. 

The  little  paper  structure  was  soon  swelled  out  to 
its  utmost  tension  by  the  rarified  air  ;  ascended  grace- 
fully until  it  looked  like  a  twinkling  star,  then  passed 
out  of  sight  and  was  heard  of  no  more. 

The  children  were  in  a  great  glee.  Mrs.  Winthrop 
said  that  Clarence  and  Lillie  did  not  get  to  sleep  be- 
fore midnight,  and  then  dreamed  of  balloons  until 
morning.  The  great  question  with  them  was,  "  What 
21* 


246  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

became  of  the  little  thing  ?  "  Paul  soon  became  satis- 
fied that  Mr.  Meagre  was  right  in  supposing  that  it 
had  got  to  the  earth  in  safety  some  few  miles  away, 
but  Clarence  thought  it  must  still  be  up  in  the  sky, 
and  called  his  Pa  the  next  evening  to  see  it.  Mr. 
Winthrop  went  out  to  gratify  the  child,  and  was 
pointed  to  the  planet  Mars,  which  Clarence  said  was 
"  redder  than  any  of  the  stars,  and  must  be  the  bal- 
loon." 

Nothing  would  now  do  but  that  Mr.  Meagre  must 
make  another,  which  he  promised  to  do  as  soon  as  he 
could  get  the  paper.  This  was  not  effected,  however, 
for  about  six  weeks,  as  it  had  to  be  ordered  from  the 
city,  and  the  stationer  who  attended  to  it  experienced- 
some  delays.  At  length  the  material  came  to  the  de- 
light of  the  little  ones.  The  balloon  was  then  made 
and  named  the  "Fair  Sister,"  but  as  the  young  par- 
son had  not  time  to  preside  at  the  ascension,  the 
gauze-like  structure  was  committed  to  the  hands  of 
Paul  and  Clarence  to  be  kept  for  some  future  occa- 
sion. 

Meanwhile  the  first  balloon  had  created  some  con- 
sternation in  the  neighborhood. 


CONSEQUENCES.  247 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

CONSEQUENCES. 

"  THE  LILLIE,"  as  the  harmless  little  paper  balloon 
was  named,  had  been  seen  by  a  few  of  the  country 
people,  to  whom  its  appearance  was  mysterious,  as  the 
like  had  never  been  known  before  in  those  parts.  Some 
said  it  was  "  one  of  them  meteors,"  others  pronounced 
it  a  "Jack  o'  the  lantern,"  but  Mr.  Ludwig  was  cer- 
tain the  witches  had  something  to  do  with  it. 

He  came  to  the  village  to  make  some  inquiries  about 
it,  although  he  resolved  to  do  this  incidentally,  and 
without  showing  that  he  was  "  skeer'd,"  in  the  least. 
The  first  place  he  went  to  was  the  tavern,  and  the  first 
person  he  met  was  Mr.  Tompkins — the  man  about  to\vn 
most  likely  to  know  all  about  any  strange  thing  that 
had  come  to  pass. 

Tony  was  prepared  for  him.  He  had  either  received 
some  intimation  of  Mr.  Ludwi^'s  apprehensions,  or 
conceived  the  original  idea  of  exciting  his  fears  upon 
the  subject ;  and  he  met  him  as  one  friend  meets  an- 
other in  circumstances  of  sorrow.  He  extended  his 
hand  in  silence,  shook  his  head  mournfully,  then  sat 
down  on  the  bench  in  the  bar-room  and  buried  his  face 
in  his  check-cotton  handkerchief. 

In  vain  did  Christopher  Ludwig  try  to  appear  indif- 


248  THE    YOUNG    PAESON. 

ferent.  That  irresistible  propensity  in  man  to  pry  into 
a  mystery  —  especially  when  some  evil  seems  to  be 
wrapped  up  in  the  Sibyl  leaves  —  led  him  to  betray 
his  anxiety  very  palpably,  and  Tony  saw  at  once  that 
he  had  the  old  man  completely  in  his  power.  And 
Anthony  Tompkins  had  the  conscience  to  take  sad 
advantage  of  his  friend's  fears.  He  tried  to  increase 
these  ;  sighing  like  a  furnace,  and  looking  as  if  he 
expected  the  heavens  and  earth  to  come  into  violent 
concussion  every  moment,  and  yet  giving  no  intimation 
by  any  word  of  his  as  to  the  nature  of  the  dire  event 
that  was  casting  its  shadow  on  his  soul. 

Old  Christopher's  curiosity  and  alarm  were  soon 
wrought  up  to  the  highest  pitch. 

"  Sagt  Dony  was  faelt  ?  "  he  asked,  so  as  not  to  be 
heard  by  a  young  nephew  of  Mr.  Gottleib's,  who  was 
attending  the  bar  in  the  absence  of  the  old  gentleman 
himself. 

"  You'll  have  to  talk  English  to  me,  Stcephel.  I 
can't  understand  Dutch,"  said  Tony,  walking  out  of 
the  back  door  towards  the  stable. 

"  Dony !  Dony  !  Meister  Domkins  ! "  called  out  Mr. 
Ludwig,  but  Tony  went  on  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the 
voice  of  his  friend.  This  was  only  a  ruse  to  get  his 
victim  away  from  the  youthful  Boniface  who  presided 
over  the  black  bottles  and  green  glass  tumblers  that 
day,  and  who  might  have  spoiled  the  fun. 

As  was  expected,  Mr.  Ludwig  soon  followed  Mr. 
Tompkins  to  the  stable.  He  found  that  worthy  fum- 
bling over  a  feed-box,  with  a  peck  measure  that  he 


CONSEQUENCES.  249 

had  picked  up  near  the  door.  "  Dony,  vat  ish  de 
mather  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  The  matter ! "  exclaimed  Tony,  in  surprise, 
"  There's  enough  the  matter,  when  a  body's  likely  to 
be  cotch  by  the  thumbs  and;  tuck  up  to  the  moon  enny 
minit,  leaving  everything  behind  him,"  he  muttered, 
as  he  walked  away  again  from  his  anxious  inquirer, 
carrying  the  empty  measure  as  if  it  were  full,  and 
affecting  to  give  some  oats  to  a  horse  in  a  remote 
stall. 

Somehow  or  other  Mr.  Tompkins  was  especially 
devoted  to  his  business  just  at  that  time.  Indeed,  he 
was  one  of  the  "careful  and  attentive  ostlers"  you 
read  about  in  the  advertisements  of  country  taverns. 
No  sooner  had  he  "  fed  the  horse "  than  he  took  a 
wooden  fork,  gathered  up  all  the  straw  lying  around, 
and  began  to  fix  up  things  generally.  But  Mr.  Lud- 
wig  soon  obtruded  himself  upon  his  reticent  friend 
again :  — 

"Dony,"  he  said,  "  ven  you  dells  me  vat  ish  de 
inather,  den  ve  dakes  some  schnapps." 

Tony  considered  this  proposition  for  full  sixty  sec- 
onds —  as  long  as  he  could  possibly  hold  it  under  de- 
bate, and  then  said,  "Well,  but  don't  say  enny  thing 
before  enny  body :  wait  till  we  come  back,  and  don't 
ever  bring  my  name  in,  if  you  don't  want  to  see  stones 
fall  upwards." 

The  two  worthies  went  into  the  bar-room  and  took 
a  heavy  swig  —  Tony  hiding  the  depth  of  his  potation 
by  putting  his  fingers  closely  around  the  glass.  Mr. 


250  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

Ludwig  paid  for  the  liquor,  and  went  back  with  his 
friend  to  the  stable. 

"  Nun  Dony,"  he  asked,  "  vat  ish  it  ?  De  vitches  ?  " 

"Yes,"  replied  Tony,  with  an  awful  groan. 

"De  Porror?"  (the  preacher)  asked  Ludwig,  anx- 
iously. 

"  Hush !  H-i-s-h  ! "  said  Tony  with  a  gesture  that 
enjoined  caution. 

"  De  Porror  ?  De  Meagre  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Ludwig 
in  a  whisper. 

"  Well,  Christopher,"  said  Mr.  Tompkins,  "  I  don't 
like  to  say  much  about  it,  bein  as  me  and  the  little 
feller's  good  friends,  and  I  al'ers  tuck  his  part ; "  but, 
he  continued,  dropping  his  voice  to  a  very  low  tone, 
"  you  know  that  night  the  light  was  seen  in  the  sky  ?  " 

"Ya,  vat  it  vus?"  asked  Mr.  Ludwig,  with  his 
mouth  and  eyes  wide  open. 

"  Well,"  said  Tony  confidentially,  "that  night  just 
afore  it  pear'd  so  high  up,  I  seed  the  little  feller 
dealin  with  familiar  spirits.  Had  something  looked  a 
good  deal  like  water,  and  he  ra'ly  made  it  burn." 

"  Ach,  Dony  ! "  exclaimed  Christopher,  "  De  Porror 
kin  makes  de  wasser  burn  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  was  so  much  like  water  that  you  couldn't 
tell  the  difference  first  by  lookin  at  it,  and  he  did 
make  it  burn,  and  what  was  worse  nor  all,  it  burnt 
blue  blazes ;  everybody  round  got  a  kind  of  pale  like 
dead  people,  only  they  looked  more  greenisher.  Mea- 
gre owned  up  that  it  was  the  spirits  that  made  every- 
thing look  that  way,  and"  — 


CONSEQUENCE?.  251 

"  Mine  goodness,  Dony  ! "  exclaimed  Ludwig. 

"Fact,  Stoephel,"  continued  Tony,  "and  as  I  was 
goin'  to  say,  he  had  a  great  big  roundish  lantern,  all 
kind  of  colors  in  it  —  looked  like  a  witch's  concern, 
and  all  the  spirits  went  up  in  it  till  it  got  so  full  it 
swelled  out  fight  like  a  pin  cushin,  and  then  away 
they  rode,  higher  nor  the  hickory  pole  you  Locos  put 
up  last  fall,  and  away  ever  so  far." 

"Var  it  vent?"  asked  the  alarmed  listener. 

"Don't  know,"  replied  his  informer,  "may  be  to 
the  moon,  for  all  I  know.  Fact  was,  I  felt  such  a 
pulling  at  my  thumbs  that  I  had  to  take  care  of  my- 
self. Was  afraid  Gotleib  would  be  without  a  hostler 
if  I  didn't  mind,  but  the  last  I  seed  of  the  curus  con- 
cern, it  was  up  ever  so  high,  and  away  over  Shaller 
Creek.  Moon  wasn't  up,  or  I  could  a  told  better  if 
it  went  towards  it." 

"  It  kin  git  agross  de  krick  ?"  asked  Mr.  Ludwig, 
with  increased  alarm. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tony.  "  You  see  when  it  gets  so  high, 
the  water  ain't  got  no  power  to  draw  it  down.  Reckon 
that  witch-wagon,  or  whatever  you  call  it,  would  a  gone 
clean  over  a  big  river." 

"  Vas  de  Porror  in  der  vitch-vagon  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Ludwig. 

"  Didn't  see  him  much  that  night  after  it  went," 
replied  Tony,  "but  I  reckon  he  didn't  go  up,  for  he 
was  about  arley  next  mornin'.  But  la  me,  Ludwig .' 
that  thing  went  off  without  any  noise,  and  I  reckon  if 


252  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

it  could  a  got  started  it  would  a  come  back  without  any 
more.     No  tellin'  what'll  become  of  us." 

By  this  time,  old  Christopher,  who  had  been  stand- 
ing before  Tony  with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  listening 
intently,  became  greatly  excited.  "  Och,  Dony,  Dony, 
vat  vill  ve  do?"  he  asked,  looking  wildly  around  him. 
"Hold  our  jaws!"  replied  Mr.  Tompkins.  "If 
Meagre  finds  out  how  we  are  talking  about  him'  he'll 
ride  us  worse  nor  the  witches  ever  rode  your  bay  colt." 
"  Ya,  ya,"  said  Christopher,  sadly,  "he  do  vat  he 
bleases  mit  Mongrel,  und  Grime  say  he  de  only 
breacher  as  is  not  afeer'd  von  him.  But,  Dony,  some 
de  vitches  knows  vat  a  body  dinks.  You  dinks  de 
Meagre  kin  ?". 

"  He  told  me  what  was  in  my  mind  once  or  twice," 
replied  Tony,  "  but  I  don't  believe  he'd  a  cotch  me, 
if  I'd  a  kept  my  tongue  still." 

"Den  I  say  all  de  dime  not  a  word,"  said  Mr. 
Ludwig. 

With  all  this  stuff,  and  no  one  knows  how  much 
more  like  it,  crammed  into  his  mind,  poor  old  Chris- 
topher Ludwig  left  his  friend  Anthony  Tompkins  that 
day,  after  rewarding  his  gross  imposition  with  enough 
cheap  whiskey  to  make  him  drunk  and  worthless  for 
a  week.  Mr.  Ludwig  had  his  own  reward  in  the  way 
of  nervous  apprehensions,  which  caused  him  more 
than  one  sleepless  night,  and  some  hours  of  agony 
during  the  days  and  weeks  that  succeeded.  He  pro- 
bably was  induced  by  his  fears  to  take  Tony's  advice, 
and  "  keep  his  jaw  "  in  the  presence  of  people  gene- 


THE    RECONCILIATION.  253 

rally,  but  he  doubless  told  his  family  of  the  evil  that 
threatened  the  community,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to 
avert  such  calamities  as  being  ridden  like  a  colt,  or 
carried  to  the  moon  by  the  "little  porror." 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE    RECONCILIATION. 

THE  young  parson  was  of  course  left  in  blissful 
ignorance  of  all  that  had  passed  between  Mr.  Lud- 
wig  and  his  friend  Anthony,  and  indeed  did  not  know 
that  "Lillie"  had  called  forth  any  remarks  except 
from  the  children,  until  the  second  balloon  was  seen 
careering  over  the  ancient  city  of  Pumbeditha.  Then, 
some  things  that  had  been  kept  secret  were  brought 
to  light. 

Rev.  Petit  had  promised  Paul  and  Clarence,  that 
if  he  got  to  Pumbeditha,  "  next  trip,"  on  Friday 
evening,  he  would  devote  half  an  hour  to  their  enter- 
tainment, and  expressed  the  hope  that  the  "Fair 
Sister"  would  afford  them  as  much  pleasure  as  the 
" Lillie"  had  done.  That  Friday  came,  at  length, 
for  the  boys,  but  no  Mr.  Meagre  came  with  it.  He 
had  been  detained  at  Gainfield  by  a  funeral,  as  usual. 

It  was  almost  impossible  for  the  little  ones  to  wait 
longer ;  and  so  they  determined  to  inflate  and  send 
22 


254  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

up  the  balloon  themselves.  One  thing  still  exercised 
them  greatly  in  regard  to  the  "Lillie."  She  had 
never  been  heard  of;  and  they  wished  to  devise  a 
plan  by  which  they  might  learn  the  fate  of  the  "  Fair 
Sister"  that  was  to  follow  her.  They  resolved  at  last 
to  label  her,  and  pasted  upon  her  very  crown  these 
words,  written  in  a  boyish  hand : 

"  This  balloon  was  made  by  Rev.  Mr.  Meagre.  Any  person 
finding  it,  will  please  return  it  to  him,  at  Mr.  Winthrop's 
office,  in  Pumbeditha." 

But  alas  for  the  inexperience  of  the  boys  !  they  did 
not  saturate  the  sponge  sufficiently,  and  let  the  little 
structure  go  before  it  was  properly  filled ;  and  unlike 
the  lost  Pleiad,  it  arose  only  about  one  hundred  feet, 
passed  slowly  over  the  town,  and  after  a  short  in- 
glorious flight  went  out  in  darkness,  and  fell  in  Mr. 
Krime's  meadow  but  a  mile  from  the  place  where  it 
started. 

During  the  day,  Paul  and  Clarence  had  been  so 
full  of  the  anticipated  pleasure,  that  they  had  all  of 
the  children  in  the  village,  and  some  of  the  older 
folks  agog ;  and  Mr.  Ludwig,  who  happened  to  come 
to  the  tavern,  was  informed  by  Mr.  Tompkins,  that  a 
demonstration  was  imminent.  He  therefore  kept  a 
look  out,  and  was  rewarded  by  a  sight  of  the  hideous 
monster.  Mr.  Krime  too  saw  it,  but  as  it  were,  by 
accident. 

Had  Christopher  Ludwig  found  the  balloon  the 
next  day,  he  perhaps  would  have  feared  to  touch  it ; 
but  that  pleasure  was  reserved  for  Adam  Krime,  who, 


THE    RECONCILIATION.        .         255 

though  more  pugnacious,  was  less  superstitious  than 
his  neighbor.  The  old  gentleman  picked  it  up  and 
carried  it  home;  but  as  he  was  unable  to  determine 
what  it  was,  he  took  his  wife's  advice  and  put  it  away 
until  he  could  ask  Tony  Tompkins,  who  was  to  come 
the  next  day  and  help  to  plant  corn. 

The  next  morning,  Mr.  Krime  brought  out  the  bal- 
loon, and  asked,  "  Sagt,  Dony,  you  kin  del  me  vat 
ish  dat?" 

'•  That !  "  exclaimed  Tony,  who  knew  Adam's  sen- 
sitive point  as  well  he  knew  Christopher's,  "  It's  a 
thing  to  blow  up  farms.  Should  think  it  agin  the  law 
to  have  one  of  them ;  a  feller  might  have  to  look 
through  iron  bars  if  cotch  with  it." 

Mr.  Krime  dropped  the  balloon  incontinently,  backed 
to  the  wall,  and  looked  aghast.  He  was  certain  it  was 
an  infernal  machine  projected  to  ruin  him. 

"No  danger  of  it  now  more'n  of  an  empty  gun," 
said  Tony,  picking  it  up.  "  See,  it's  burnt  out ! " 

"Dony,"  said  Mr.  Krime,  "you  dells  so  many  lies 
as  a  pody  net  kin  pelieve  you  ven  dey  knows  you  dells 
de  druth.  I  net  dinks  dat  kin  knocks  a  pody's  blan- 
tation  in  bieces." 

Cassandra  herself  oould  not  have  worn  a  look  more 
expressive  of  meek  dejection  when  Agamemnon  hooted 
at  her  sad  predictions,  than  Anthony  Tompkins  wore 
at  that  moment.  "  Well,  Adam,"  he  said,  not  in  angrr 
but  in  sorrow,  "just  as  you'll  have  it;  but  mebbejNMi 
won't  believe  that  thing  could  come  through  the  air 
and  burn  a  barn  down." 


256  „          THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

Mr.  Krime's  incredulity  was  gone  in  an  instant. 
"  Dat  vas  vat  I  sees  last  night  ?  "  he  asked  of  Mr. 
Tompkins,  who  was  walking  away.  "Sagt  Dony,  vare 
it  kom  from  ?  " 

"Don't  know,"  said  Tony,  scarcely  looking  around, 
"  but  it  has  some  writin'  on  it,  mebbe  that'll  tell." 

"  Veil,  I  looks  at  it  den,"  said  Mr.  Krime,  thrusting 
his  hand  into  his  deep  vest  pocket  in  search  of  his 
glasses,  "I  net  kin  ride  rodin  mit  out  mine  specs." 

The  glasses  were  soon  found,  taken  from  the  tin 
case  with  trembling  hand,  and  placed  astride  of  the 
owner's  nose,  who,  by  the  aid  of  a  little  learning, 
found  out  at  length  that  Mr.  Meagre  was  the  origi- 
nator of  the  balloon.  When  this  discovery  was  made, 
old  Adam  Krime's  utterance  failed  him  for  some 
moments,  and  he  simply  tottered  about  the  room  in 
speechless  rage.  At  length  the  words  came  tumbling 
out  spasmodically.  "I  sues  dat  breacher  mit  de 
law,"  he  said,  "und  dakes  all  de  monish  he  make  mit 
breachin' ;  und  I  poots  him  in  de  shail  —  all  de  dime 
I  poots  him  in  shail." 

"  You've  got  purty  good  evidence  agin  him,"  said 
Tony. 

"  Ya,  ya,"  said  Mr.  Krime,  "  I  keeps  dis  to  brove 
it  to  de  court  house  dat  he  net  ish  a  goot  breacher ; 
den  all  de  beoples  pelieves  me  ven  I  says  dey  net  mus 
git  de  breacher  to  com  any  more  zu  dis  blace,"  and 
the  old  man  gathered  up  the  "Fair  Sister"  in  his 
arms  with  a  chuckle  of  rare  delight. 

"  I  say,  Adam,"  quoth  Tony,  "  I  think  you  and 


THE     RECONCILIATION.       .  257 

Ludwig  ought  to  make  up  now  and  jine  together  to 
put  down  the  flying-machines :  he's  as  much  worried 
about  them  as  you  are." 

'•Ya,  ya,"  answered  Mr.  Krime,  "I  jines  in  mit 
Sto3phel  Ludwig  to  trive  away  de  breachers,  ven  he 
net  togs  mine  bigs." 

The  next  morning  Mr.  Krime  put  on  his  suit  of  blue 
cloth,  made  when  the  young  parson's  father  was  a 
baby,  and  an  old -white  hat  —  his  royal  apparel,  worn 
only  on  state  occasions.  He  then  led  from  the  stable 
a  tall,  well-fed,  but  illy-shaped  and  awkward  horse ; 
took  down  a  saddle  that  was  hanging  by  one  stirrup 
against  the  house  under  the  porch  roof,  put  it  on  the 
beast,  crawled  on  top  of  it  at  the  "upping  block,"  and 
started  for  the  county-seat  with  the  balloon  under  his 
arm  tied  up  in  a  yellow  cotton  handkerchief.  That 
afternoon,  about  three  o'clock,  he  returned  with  the 
bundle  still  under  his  arm.  He  had  failed  to  get  the 
law,  either  because  no  member  of  the  bar  would  un- 
dertake his  case,  or  may  be,  because  no  one  knew 
under  what  statute  the  offence  would  come.  He  had 
been  advised,  however,  to  publish  a  caution  to  tres- 
passers, and  that  evening  at  his  ol'i  bureau  with  brass 
drawer-handles  and  desk-like  top,  he  wrote  it  out.  A 
day  or  two  afterwards,  the  following  warning,  written 
on  a  piece  of  rough,  time-embrowned  paper,  with 
columns  for  dollars  and  cents  marked  on  one  edge  of 
it  with  red  ink,  was  stuck  up  against  the  village  store 
door : 

"disish  de  nodi*  dat  de  br tochers  unt  palloon*  vil  nft  kom 
22* 


258  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

on  my  bremises  als  i  sliutes  em  shust  like  eider  a  bossum  oder  a 
mink." 

Mr.Winthrop  secured  this  precious  document,  and 
showed  it  to  Mr.  Meagre  one  night  in  his  own  room, 
whereupon  the  young  '  limb  o'  the  kirk,'  threw  him- 
self upon  a  sofa,  kicked  up  his  heels,  and  laughed. 
Afterwards  he  felt  badly  enough  about  it,  not  because 
he  was  afraid  of  being  shot  like  an  opossum  or  a 
mink,  although  Mr.  Krime  probably  was  in  earnest 
with  his  threats,  but  because  he  did  not  like  the  un- 
clerical  notoriety  it  had  gained  for  him,  and  was  sorry 
that  even  Mr.  Krime  should  think  he  would  endanger 
his  property.  But  then  he  did  not  think  that  any 
blame  could  be  attached  to  him,  as  he  meant  no  harm, 
and  had  built  the  balloon  so  carefully  that  it  was 
hardly  liable  to  do  any  damage.  Besides  he  could  do 
nothing  to  correct  the  evil  impression  that  obtained 
in  the  mind  of  his  aged  friend.  Mr.  Winthrop  had 
gone  out  to  see  the  old  gentleman,  and  tried  to  ab- 
solve the  young  pastor  from  any  censure,  as  he  was 
not  accountable  for  what  the  little  boys  had  done : 
but  this  was  construed  into  an  effort  to  get  his  rever- 
ence off  from  going  to  jail  and  being  shot,  and  so  it 
was  concluded  that  things  would  have  to  take  their 
course. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Tompkins,  anxious  to  make  amends 
for  the  evil  he  had  done,  or  perhaps  with  some  design 
of  ulterior  mischief  in  view,  had  reported  to  Mr.  Lud- 
wig  that  Mr.  Krime  was  willing  to  be  reconciled  with 
him.  At  first,  Christopher  was  a  little  dubious,  as 


THE    RECONCILIATION.  259 

Tony  had  once  told  him  that  "Adam  net  would  fight ; " 
but  his  doubts  were  soon  overcome,  and  not  many 
days  afterwards,  the  two  old  men  shook  hands  over  a 
glass  of  grog  in  Mr.  Gottleib's  tavern. 

"  You  dakes  de  vitch  vagon  a  brisoner,"  said  Mr. 
Ludwig,  with  a  look  that  was  intended  to  compliment 
Mr.  Krime's  bravery. 

"Ya,"  said  Mr.  Krime,  "  ven  I  vent  de  stairs  up 
zu  pull  de  vinders  town,  cause  I  dinks  it  be's  a  don- 
ner's  gust,  a  little  bit  ago  after  while,  I  sees  him,  und 
hollered  out  zu  mine  frau,  'Bolly,  mine  Himmel  vat 
a  gomets ! '  Den  ven  Bolly  run  around  the  house 
pefore  behindt,  she  net  sees  him  any  more,  auber  I 
bicks  him  up  to-morrow  in  the  medder,  und  keeps  him 
zu  but  the  breacher  in  shail  mit  him." 

"  Ya,"  said  Ludwig,  anxious  to  claim  his  share  of 
credit  in  the  good  work,  "ven  I  see  der  flyin'  machine, 
I  runt  mit  Gashber  quick  out,  und  shack  up  mine 
vagon  vheel  und  durns  him  packward,  and  burdy  quick 
der  flyin'  merchine  durable  on  de  grount." 

Before  long,  the  two  old  men,  warmed  by  their  cups, 
were  vicing  with  each  other  in  a  duet  of  jargon  that 
was  all  the  more  confused  because  they  attempted  to 
talk  English  for  the  benefit  of  Tony,  who  simply  said 
"yes"  or  "no,"  at  intervals,  and  whose  only  care 
seemed  to  be  to  get  a  horn  of  whiskey  at  the  expense 
of  his  friends  whenever  an  opportunity  to  do  so  pre- 
sented itself.  After  a  good  deal  of  vehement  talk  and 
striking  of  canes  on  the  bar-room  floor,  the  convention 
adjourned,  fully  impressed  with  the  fact  that  preachers 


260  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

and  balloons  were  nuisances  that  ought  to  be  abated ; 
and  only  differing  as  to  the  manner  in  which  this  could 
be  most  successfully  accomplished — Mr.  Ludwig  being 
of  the  opinion  that  the  young  parson's  witchcraft 
ought  to  be  outdone  by  deeper  counter-charms,  and 
Mr.  Krime  advising  a  resort  to  force  of  arms. 

Some  weeks  after  this,  the  young  parson  was  riding 
in  the  country  near  Mr.  Krime's  place,  when  looking 
down  a  narrow  lane,  he  saw  the  old  gentleman  evi- 
dently at  work.  He  was  certain  that  it  was  he  — 
uould  have  known  him  by  his  peculiar  motions  and 
by  the  red  flannel  back  of  his  jacket,  if  by  nothing 
else,  and  he  concluded  to  ride  in  and  have  a  talk  with 
him. 

When  he  rode  up  to  him,  the  old  man  was  vainly 
trying  to  lift  the  heavy  end  of  a  '  rider '  upon  the 
crossed  stakes  of  a  worm  fence. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Krime,  and  I  will  help  you," 
called  out  Rev.  Petit,  and  dismounting  quickly,  he 
hitched  his  horse  near  a  clump  of  cedar  trees,  and 
lifted  the  rail  at  which  the  old  man  was  tugging,  to  its 
place. 

Mr.  Krime  walked  to  the  next  pannel,  and  the  young 
parson  helped  him  to  fix  that,  and  so  on,  until  the  work 
the  old  man  had  proposed  to  himself  was  finished. 
Then  the  old  gentleman  turned  around  and  asked  of 
his  reverend  friend,  "Who  you  vus?" 

"  Meagre,"  replied  the  young  parson. 

'•  H-e-y  ?"  fairly  screamed  the  astonished  Mr.  Krime. 


THE    RECONCILIATION.  261 

"  Meagre,"  repeated  the  Rev.  Petit,  loudly,  but  com- 
placently. 

"  Bist  du  not  afeer'd  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Krime. 

"No  sir,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"  You  net  knows  I  shutes  de  beoples  ven  dey  makes 
me  mat  ?  " 

'%I  know  that  you  shot  at  one  man  when  you  were 
mad,  but  I  am  not  afraid  that  you  will  shoot  me," 
replied  the  Rev.  Petit. 

Mr.  Krime  looked  wildly  around  as  if  he  were  hunt- 
ing something  with  which  to  knock  the  young  divine's 
brains  out,  and  the  savage  aspect  he  wore,  reminded 
the  Rev.  Petit  so  much  of  a  man  who  threatened  "  to 
cut  his  ears  off"  when  quite  a  child,  that  he  could 
hardly  keep  from  laughing  aloud.  He  kept  his  risi- 
bility within  reasonable  bounds,  however,  but  his  aged 
friend,  perhaps  seeing  that  the  youngster  was  not 
scared,  dropped  down  from  his  impotent  rage  to  a  state 
of  indifference,  and  said,  with  an  air  of  carelessness, 
"  Veil,  I  neider  bist  net  afeer'd  von  you  doo." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  the  young  parson. 

"Auber  de  Ludwig  ish.  He  dinks  you  a  vitch," 
said  Mr.  Krime. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  it,"  quoth  the  young  parson. 

Mr.  Krime  seemed  to  be  taken  up  with  some 
pleasant  thought.  At  length  he  said,  "  I  gives  you 
funf  und  zwanzig  cent  fur  breachin  ven  you  makes 
out  all  de  dime  you  a  vitch  uud  skeers  him  kase  ho 
togs  mine  bigs." 

"  I  will  do  no  such  thing,"  replied  the  young  parson. 


262  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

"Net  for  veirtel  tollar?" 

"No  sir,  not  for  a  quarter  of  a  dollar." 

Mr.  Krime  seemed  utterly  astonished  at  this.  He 
crossed  his  hands  behind  him  and  looked  intently  at 
an  old  stump.  The  young  parson  allowed  him  to  in- 
dulge in  his  reverie  for  some  time,  and  then  inter- 
rupted it  hy  commencing  to  read  him  a  lecture.  He 
reminded  the  old  man  of  his  past  history  as  far  as  he 
knew  it,  and  especially  of  his  bearing  towards  Christ- 
ian ministers,  and  through  them  towards  that  God 
whose  they  were  and  whom  they  served.  He  dwelt 
upon  the  folly  of  the  course  he  had  been  pursuing  to- 
wards him,  pointing  out  the  false  position  in  which 
he  wished  to  place  him  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Ludwig, 
and  closed  by  solemnly  admonishing  him  to  prepare 
for  that  judgment-bar  before  which  he  would  soon 
have  to  appear. 

The  old  man  listened  respectfully,  but  what  was 
said  did  not  seem  to  affect  him  much.  He  was,  how- 
ever, so  far  mollified  as  to  ask  the  young  parson  home 
to  dinner  with  him.  "  Bolly  kills  a  fet  hinkel  und 
make  de  noodles,  you  will  go  zu  de  dinner  dime !"  he 
said. 

The  Rev.  Petit  accepted  the  invitation,  not  espe- 
cially for  the  sake  of  the  chicken  soup,  although  lie 
was  fond  of  that,  but  because  he  thought  he  had 
better  meet  the  old  man's  advances,  as  it  might  give 
him  opportunity  to  have  further  talk  with  him.  Be- 
fore leaving  the  house  Mr.  Meagre  proposed  to  have 
prayer  with  the  family,  at  which  Mrs.  Krime  seemed 


THE    RECONCILIATION.  263 

greatly  rejoiced,  and  to  which  Mr.  Krime  interposed 
no  objections.  Poor  old  man !  He  asked  the  young 
parson  to  come  again,  and  he  said  he  always  thought 
before,  that  the  preachers  were  too  proud  to  help  to 
make  fence,  and  that  they  would  do  anything  for 
money. 

After  this,  Mr.  Meagre  visited  the  old  man  as  often 
as  possible,  but  was  sadly  impressed  with  the  fact  that 
old  age  was  not  favorable  to  religious  impressions. 
The  picture  drawn  in  the  twelfth  chapter  of  Ecclesi- 
astes  often  came  to  his  mind,  and  once  without  saying 
anything  to  any  one  of  the  way  in  which  he  was  led 
to  the  subject,  he  preached  a  sermon  on  the  text, 
"  Remember  now  thy  Creator  in  the  days  .of  thy 
youth,  while  the  evil  days  come  not,  nor  the  years 
draw  nigh  when  thou  shalt  say,  I  have  no  pleasure 
in  them." 

One  day  Mr.  Meagre  started  out  to  see  his  aged 
friend,  resolved  to  make  a  renewed  effort  for  his  good. 
As  he  approached  the  house  he  met  Mrs.  Krime  run- 
ning towards  him  in  a  state  of  frensied  excitement. 
The  old  man  had  just  fallen  from  his  chair  upon  the 
floor  —  dead. 

The  young  parson  was  called  upon  to  preach  the 
funeral  sermon,  and  it  was  really  thought  by  some 
people  that  he  must  have  a  spite  at  the  old  man,  and 
would  give  vent  to  his  spleen  by  assigning  him  a  place 
in  eternal  torment.  When  this  was  not  done,  his  simple 
discourse  upon  the  vanity  of  life,  and  the  importance 
of  securing  an  interest  in  the  atonement  of  Christ, 


264  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

was  adjudged  to  be  an  endorsement  of  the  deceased 
man's  whole  character,  and  it  was  said  that  Meagre  had 
"preached  old  Krime  to  glory."  The  young  parson 
had  not  presumed  to  pass  judgment  at  all.  That  pre- 
rogative God  had  reserved  to  Himself. 

The  Rev.  Petit  never  met  Mr.  Ludwig  after  this, 
although  he  tried  hard  to  get  an  interview  with  him. 
The  poor  old  fellow  actually  thought  that  his  friend's 
sudden  death  might  possibly  be  attributed  to  the 
agency  of  the  young  parson. 

"  Mebbe  de  Meagre  vorks  a  spell  or  drow  some 
'potecary  stuff  on  de  Herr  Krime." 

All  of  this  was  exceedingly  painful  to  the  young 
minister.  Some  persons  there  were  who  ignored  witch- 
craft as  a  figment  of  a  morbid  fancy,  and  perhaps 
there  were  no»phenornena  here  to  justify  the  supposi- 
tion that  sorcery  was  practised.  But  old  Christopher 
Ludwig  did  give  evidence  of  that  "  strong  delusion  " 
by  which  men  are  led  to  "believe  a  lie,"  and  witch- 
craft itself  was  so  clearly  spoken  of  in  the  Bible  as 
something  real,  that  the  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  cared  no 
more  to  have  it  imputed  to  him,  than  any  other  one  of 
the  dark  sins  that  St.  Paul  mentions  in  his  catalogue 
of  the  fruits  of  the  flesh. 


DAVID     R  A  R  L  Y     AND     HIS     REQUEST.    2G5 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

DAVID  EARLY  AND  HIS  REQUEST. 

DAVID  EARLY,  whose  name  has  been  mentioned  inci- 
dentally in  a  previous  chapter,  was  a  deacon  in  the 
congregation  at  Pumbeditha,  and  lived  about  two  miles 
from  that  place.  Although  only  about  thirty-five  years 
of  age,  he  was  very  old-fashioned  in  almost  every  re- 
spect. He  had  now  been' married  fourteen  years,  and 
yet  his  wedding  suit  had  been  preserved  in  good  con- 
dition, and  was  duly  worn  on  Sundays.  His  coat  was 
a  swallow-tailed  blue  cloth,  with  brass  buttons.  It  was 
not  quite  as  high  in  the  collar,  and  in  the  gathers  on 
the  shoulders,  as  some  of  a  still  more  ancient  date, 
but  it  was  quite  as  short  in  the  body  —  too  short  to 
cover  David's  vest,  which  extended  about  three  inches 
lower  down  on  his  person.  David's  pants  were  a  little 
tight,  and  they  wrinkled  up  his  legs  a  spell,  but  tights 
were  fashionable  when  those  pants  were  made,  and 
they  had  originally  been  kept  down  by  straps  of  the 
same  material,  now  no  longer  in  vogue,  and  at  any 
rate  worn  out  and  cut  off.  Mr.  Early  wore  this  attire 
not  because  he  was  too  stingy  to  get  anything  more 
modern  in  style,  but  because  he  was  not  "  hard  on 
clothes,"  and  what  he  had,  answered  him  every  pur- 
pose. Old  Adam  Krime's  sign  of  pride  was  not  visible 
23 


266  THE    YOUNG    PA  US  OF. 

in  the  deacon's  case,  for  he  never  parted  his  hair,  but 
just  combed  it  out  straight  all  around,  and  pushed  it 
jout  of  his  eyes,  from  time  to  time,  with  his  open  hand. 
David  was  as  amiable  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hayfield, 
whose  dogs,  it  will  be  remembered,  worried  the  young 
parson  so  sadly  on  a  certain  occasion.  And  yet  David 
differed  from  those  worthy  people  a  shade  ottwo  in 
character  and  disposition.  They  were  very  harmless, 
simple-hearted  folks,  altogether  unsophisticated,  and 
yet  constitutionally  grave  and  sober.  They  never 
frowned,  but  then  they  never  laughed.  Sidney  Smith 
would  have  startled  them,  and  imposed  greatly  upon 
their  credulity,  for  they  had  no  possible  idea  of  a  joke. 
David  Early's  place  in  this  picture  gallery  is  between 
them  and  those  mirthful,  fun-seeking  men,  Michael 
Stoner  and  Thomas  Hickman.  A  broad  smile  always 
mantled  his  face,  and  any  one  but  primmered  in  physi- 
ognomy would  have  taken  him  at  once  for  a  good-, 
natured,  accommodating  man.  He  knew  that  there 
was  treachery  in  the  world,  for  he  had  been  imposed 
upon  and  swindled  more  than  once,  but  he  had  main- 
tained his  own  integrity,  and  was  not  suspicious  of 
everybody  he  met.  Although  diffident  and  reserved, 
he  was  a  close  observer  of  men  and  things  in  his  nar- 
row circle,  and  there  was  generally  a  great  deal  of 
common  sense  in  his  droll  remarks.  He  knew  no  more 
of  the  laws  of  English  grammar  than  most  of  Mr. 
Meagre's  parishioners,  but  he  read  the  newspapers, 
and  was  tolerably  well-informed  in  regard  to  the  cur- 
rent topics  of  the  day.  In  short,  David  Early  was 


DAVID    EARLY    AND    HIS    REQUEST.   267 

neither  a  shrewd  Yankee,  nor  yet  a  jolly  green  coun- 
tryman, but  a  sensible  person,  more  distinguished  for  his 
kind-heartedness  and  generosity  than  for  anything  else. 
David  held  his  pastor  in  the  highest  admiration.  He 
honestly  thought  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  was  a  little  the 
best  preacher,  and  the  finest  little  man  in  the  world. 
In  this  opinion,  his  wife  Hannah — a  tall,  plain,  honest- 
hearted  woman,  coincided,  and  the  whole  family  seemed 
to  derive  a  peculiar  gratification  from  doing  the  young 
parson  honor.  Even  the  little  children  seemed  to  look 
upon  Rev.  Petit  as  the  very  pink  of  perfection. 
Theresa  and  Emma  would  hail  a  visit  from  him  as  a 
joyous  event.  They  always  saved  the  largest  chest- 
nuts and  the  finest  red  apples  for  him,  and  the  way 
they  would  fly  around  and  help  their  mother  when  he 
was  expected  to  supper,  was  a  caution  to  slow  folks. 
Once  he  intimated  in  their  presence  that  he  was  anx- 
ious to  get  some  goose-quills,  as  he  could  not  write  with 
:.  metal  pen.  Before  he  left  the  house,  they  supplied 
him  with  a  stock  that  has  lasted  ever  since;  and 
the  greatest  trouble  their  mother  had  with  them,  for 
the  next  six  months,  was  to  keep  them  from  unneces- 
sarily chasing  and  plucking  the  geese.  Even  little 
Petit  Meagre,  a  two  year  old,  named  after  the  young 
parson,  caught  the  infection.  He  had  been  taught  to 
tell  people  whose  name  he  bore,  and  after  lisping  it, 
was  always  duly  admonished  to  be  a  good  boy,  lest  he 
might  bring  it  into  disgrace.  One  day,  after  a  heavy 
rain,  the  little  fellow  got  away  from  his  mother,  and 
attempted  to  go  to  his  father  across  a  ploughed  field. 


268  THE    YOUNG    PA  R  SON. 

The  result  was  that  he  stuck  in  the  mud,  and  had  to 
remain  there  until  his  maternal  found  and  extricated 
him.  That  night  he  besought  his  father,  in  childish 
accents,  to  haul  all  the  dirt  out  of  the  field,  lest  Mr. 
Meagre  should  come,  stick  fast,  and  lose  his  pretty 
shoes. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Early  thought  they  could  not  do  too 
much  for  their  pastor.  Had  he  been  a  drinker  of 
tea,  and  had  it  been  customary  to  sweeten  that  beve- 
rage with  molasses,  they  would  not  have  thought  it 
too  good  for  him  if  it  had  been  all  molasses. 

Of  course  Mr.  Meagre  appreciated  the  honest  love 
of  these  plain  persons  very  highly.  He  was  conscious 
of  the  fact  that  they  over-valued  him ;  but  although 
perhaps,  not  very  vain,  he  felt  that  many  other  people 
belonging  to  his  congregations  under-valued  him  ;  that 
is,  they  did  not  magnify  his  office,  nor  recognize  his 
honest  efforts  to  do  them  good ;  and  the  affection  that 
the  few  bore  to  him  as  a  minister  and  a  man  was 
gratefully  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  compensation  for 
this. 

"  I  expect  to  stop  at  your  house  when  I  come  again. 
Meet  me  at  the  upper  depot ;  "  said  the  little  preacher 
to  David,  when  about  leaving  for  Gainfield  one  day. 

David  grinned,  promised  to  meet  Mr.  Meagre,  arid 
went  home  to  tell  his  family,  who,  it  appears,  feasted 
on  the  anticipated  visit  for  a  fortnight.  On  the  ap- 
pointed day  David  went  to  the  depot,  but  the  young 
parson  was  not  on  the  train.  He  had  been  detained 
in  Gainfield  to  attend  a  funeral,  and  did  not  get  down 


DAVID     EARLY    AND    HIS    REQUEST.     269 

until  late  in  the  evening,  when  he  was  obliged  to  go 
direct  to  Purabeditha.  The  next  day,  after  service, 
he  told  David  the  reason  why  he  did  not  come,  and 
was  duly  excused. 

'•The  children  were  very  much  put  out  when  you 
did  not  come,"  said  Hannah,  who  stood  by ;  "  they 
had  saved  you  some  apricots,  but  we  brought  them 
along,  and  left  them  at  Mr.  Middleton's,  for  fear  they 
might  be  all  gone  when  you  come  again." 

"Thank  the  children  for  me,"  said  the  young*pas- 
tor;  "I  was  as  much  disappointed  as  they.  I  hope 
you  had  not  gone  to  any  trouble  on  my  account,  al- 
though I  fear  you. are  prone  to  do  so  when  you  expect 
me." 

"No  trouble,"  she  replied.  "For  my  part,  I  am 
a  sort  of  glad  now  that  you  did  not  come,  'cause  your 
visit  would  be  over  now.  As  it  is,  we  are  yet  to  have 
the  pleasure." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  David,  "  I  expect  to  put 
you  to  some  trouble,  though  when  I  tell  you  what  it 
is,  I  don't  believe  you'll  object  much.  I  want  you  to 
go  and  see  my  little  sister-in-law,  that's  a  cripple." 

"  I  will  go  with  pleasure,"  said  the  young  parson. 
"Where  does  she  live?" 

"  Well,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  David,  "  it's  about  eight 
miles  from  here,  up  Shallow  creek ;  a  good  ways,  I 
know,  but  Phoebe's  to  be  pitied.  She  is  sixteen  years 
old,  and  has  never  walked  a  step,  and  no  preacher's 
ever  talked  to  her.  Been  none  in  the  house  since  she 
was  baptized." 
23* 


270  THE    YOUNG    PA  11  SON. 

'•That  is  strange,"  said  Mr.  Meagre  ;  "any  minis- 
ter in  Gainfield  would  have  come  down  here  and 
gone  twice  eight  miles  to  see  her,  had  her  case  heen 
known.  Why  have  you  not  told  me  of  her  before?" 

"  She  hasn't  been  in  this  neighborhood  much  since 
you're  been  here.  Hannah's  folks  moved  to  Dark 
county  after  they  lost  their  property,  and  just  moved 
back  a  month  ago.  And,  at  any  rate,  Phoebe  couldn't 
be  talked  to  much,  but  she's  stronger  now." 

"f[  will  go  to  see  her  to-morrow,  only  you  just  tell 
me  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Meagre. 

"0,  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  David,  "and  to-morrow 
will  suit  me  fustrate ;  the  grain's  all  in,  and  I  have 
not  much  to  do ;  and  at  any  rate  a  body  ought  to 
take  a  day  right  in  harvest  for  such  work." 

"Yes,  David,"  said  Hannah,  deeply  moved  at  the 
thought  of  her  afflicted  sister,  "  I'd  pitch  sheaves  all 
day  myself,  sooner  than  you  shouldn't  go,  now  that 
Mr.  Meagre's  so  willing." 

"  Don't  cry,  Hannah,"  said  David.  "  The  Great 
Father  will  do  right  by  Phoebe,  too." 

•'  There  is  no  doubt  about  that,"  said  the  young 
parson.  "But  how  are  you  to  get  out  there?  Shall 
I  get  a  conveyance  of  Mr.  JVIiddleton  ?" 

David  smiled.  "I  bought  the  old  carryall,"  said 
he,  "but  I  haven't  took  it  home  yet.  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  got  a  new  carriage.  He  wrote  me  a  funny  re- 
ceipt when  I  paid  him  for  the  one  he  had  used  so 
long ;  filled  a  half  sheet  of  paper,  telling  all  the  turns 


DAVID    EARLY    AND    HIS    REQUEST.    271 

the  old  thing  did,  and  how  you  called  it  the  'Dili- 
gence.' " 

"  Well,  we  will  go  in  that,"  said  the  parson.     "  I 
would  like  to  have  at  least  one  more  ride  in  it." 
-    "  Hope  you'll  ride  in  it  often,"  said  David.     "But 
I  think  we  better  start  very  early.     It  won't  be  so 
warm,  then." 

"  The  earlier  the  better  forme,"  said  Kev.  Petit. 

The  next  morning  David  knocked  at  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  door  while  the  quiet  stars  were  yet  visible  in 
the  sky,  and  Mr.  Meagre  ate  his  breakfast  by  candle- 
light, the  only  time  in  his  life  that  he  was  ever  guilty 
of  such  a  thing  in  the  month  of  August.  The  deacon 
put  his  saddle  in  a  safe  place ;  hitched  his  horse  to 
the  "Diligence,"  and  at  very  early  dawn  started  off 
with  his  pastor  to  see  little  Phrebe,  the  cripple. 

"  Know'd  I  needn't  'pologise  for  asking  you  to 
ride  in  this  concern,"  remarked  David,  as  they  rode 
along. 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Meagre.  "  It  has  become 
almost  a  sacred  thing  to  me.  I  have  many  pleasant 
thoughts  associated  with  it,  and  could  swell  out  the 
account  given  in  Mr.  Middleton's  receipt  into  quite  a 
history.  I  think  a  contemplative  man  might  make  at 
least  a  Sunday-School  book  out  of  the  incidents  con- 
nected with  it.  It  is  said  that  some  of  the  New  Bed- 
ford fishermen  pet  their  ships  as  if  they  were  favorite 
horses,  and  I  feel  like  petting  the  old  'Diligence.'  I 
hate  to  give  it  up  for  that  long-coupled  shiney  iin 
provement  Mr. Middleton  has  now." 


272  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

David  smiled  at  this  declaration,  and  said  it  was  a 
strange  idea. 

"  Why  do  you  laugh,  and  think  that  what  I  said  is 
strange?"  asked  Rev. Petit.  "Have  you  never  be- 
come so  attached  to  an  old  hat  that  you  disliked  to> 
exchange  it  for  a  new  one  ?  " 

"Fact,"  said  David.  "  That's  the  way  with  these 
clothes ;  been  wearing  them  so  long  that  I'd  feel 
strange  in  any  others." 

"  See,  now,  Bro.  David !"  quoth  the  pastor,  pleas- 
antly, "you  are  just  as  much  attached  to  your  clothes 
as  I  am  to  the  'Diligence,'  and  I  like  you  all  the  bet- 
ter for  it." 

David  smiled  as  usual,  and  seemed  to  think  the 
young  divine  pretty  smart  to  corner  him  in  that  way. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "this  suits  me  at  any  rate.  It'll 
do  to  fetch  Hannah  and  the  children  to  church,  any 
how.  The  little  ones  are  as  anxious  to  come  as  we 
are.  As  long  as  we  only  had  two  we  could  get  along 
well  enough  without  a  concern,  for  Hannah  could 
take  one  on  her  horse,  and  I  could  take  'tother  on 
mine ;  but  now  that  we  have  three  it's  a  little  un- 
handy. And  it  don't  make  much  difference  what  a 
man  rides  in,  or  what  he  wears,  if  only  he's  honest 
and  natural." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  the  parson;  "more  depends 
upon  a  man's  character  than  anything  else." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  Mr.  Meagre.  I  know  all  the  sensi- 
ble people  round  here,  and  'specially  them  that's 
high  up  in  life,  don't  think  less  of  an  honest  man  be- 


DAVID     EARLY     AND     HIS     REQUEST.      273 

cause  he's  plain.  I've  had  business  with  Dr.  Arling- 
ton, Mr.  Middleton,  and  all  such  men,  and  it  has 
never  made  a  hit  of  difference  to  them.  Never  had 
anybody  to  make  fun  of  me  but  one,  and  that  was 
Tim  Sipes.  He  went  to  the  West  with  one  of  the 
Hubers,  and  come  back  after  a  while  drest  like  a 
dandy,  and  give  out  as  how  he  was  a  lawyer.  Well, 
I  fotch  a  basket  of  eggs  to  town  one  day,  and  when  I 
rode  up  to  the  store  he  called  out,  '  Say,  Clodhopper, 
what's  the  difficulty  with  your  pants  ? '  Sez  I,  '  Why 
my  feet  and  knees  have  a  lawsuit  about  my  straps, 
and  the  lower  part  of  my  trowsers  is  going  up  the 
calf  of  my  leg  as  a  witness.  Mebbe  you've  come  back 
to  plead  the  case  ?  ' ' 

"  That,  I  suppose,  turned  the  laugh  on  him,"  said 
Rev.  Petit,  laughing  himself. 

"Yes,"  said  David,  "it  did ;  not  that  it  was  smart 
or  original  in  me,  but  because  people  was  glad  to  see 
Tim  took  down.  But  I  hated  it  afterwards,  for  I  was 
afraid  it  might  a  hurt  his  feelings.  I  couldn't  sleep 
all  night,  and  went  to  Mr.  Middleton  next  day  and 
asked  him  if  I  hadn't  better  give  myself  up  to  the 
church,  or  at  least  'pologise  to  Tim,  but  he  said  I  had 
only  answered  a  fool  according  to  his  folly.  That 
satisfied  me  some,  but  when  1  got  the  good  Book  it 
said  you  mussent  answer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly, 
lest  thou  be  like  him." 

"  Yes ;  but,  David,  it  says  in  nearly  the  same  place, 
*  Answer  a  fool  according  to  his  folly,  lest  he  be  wise 
in  his  own  conceit.'  " 


274  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"  How  do  you  make  them  passages  agree,  Mr.  Mea- 
gre ?  Often  wondered." 

"  Very  easily,  my  dear  brother.  Our  answer  must 
take  its  shape  from  his  folly,  so  far  as  is  necessary  to 
prevent  him  from  being  wise  in  his  own  conceit,  buc 
not  so  far,  or  in  such  a  way,  as  to  make  us  like  him. 
It  is  to  be  according  to  his  folly  in  one  sense,  but  not 
in  another.  Your  reply  to  Tim  was  a  sort  of  self- 
defence,  and  took  down  his  self-conceit,  and  may  do 
him  good ;  but  if  you  had  gone  on  to  ridicule  him  in 
the  same  spirit  in  which  he  assailed  you,  you  would 
have  made  yourself  like  him." 

"Well,"  said  David,  "a  body  will  get  overtook  in 
a  fault  sometimes,  but  I  am  always  sorry  about  what 
I  do.  I  often  think,  though,  Mr.  Meagre,  that  I've 
got  the  worst  disposition  in  the  world.  This  morning 
I  came  very  near  hitting  this  mare  dreadful  hard  when 
she  bit  me  in  the  stable.  But  it  was  dark,  and  she 
bit  me  so  suddint  and  so  hard,  that  I  was  throw'd  off 
my  guard." 

Mr.  Meagre  smiled  this  time,  not  at  David's  misfor- 
tune, but  his  ideas  of  his  violent  temper.  "  I  do  not 
think,"  he  said,  "  that  the  sins  you  have  confessed  just 
now  would  be  regarded  as  mortal  by  the  Church,  es- 
pecially as  you  had  no  settled  malice  in  your  heart." 

David  seemed  relieved  by  this  deliverance  of  his 
pastor,  but  had  his  -ecclesiastical  superior  flourished 
his  keys  and  suspended  him  from  the  "communion,  he 
doubtless  would  have  thought  it  just,  and  meekly  kissed 


SELF-CONDEMNATION.  275 

the  rod.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  hope  I'll  he  forgiven 
for  what  I  said  to  Tim,  and  what  I  was  going  to  do  to 
the  horse." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

SELF-CONDEMNATION. 

THIS  conversation  set  Rev.  Petit  to  musing.  "  Here, " 
thought  he,  "  I  have  a  perfect  Uncle  Toby.  He  would 
not  kill  a  fly.  It  is  not  entirely  natural  disposition 
either,  in  his  case,  or  else  he  would  not  he  so  keenly 
sensitive  to  sin.  Would  that  I  had  more  of  such  peo- 
ple !  How  different  David  Early  from  " — "  Compare 
him  with  Petit  Meagre,"  said  a  still  small  voice  under 
the  young  functionary's  vest.  "  Or  rather  leave  David 
Early,  a  faulty  man  at  hest,  out  of  the  question,  and 
substitute  the  One  who  was  holy,  harmless,  undefiled, 
and  separate  from  sinners,  if  you  want  to  see  some 
bright  lines  on  a  very  dark  back-ground."  "Alas, 
yes  !  "  thought  the  young  parson,  "  how  great  the  con- 
trast !  How  often  have  I  detected  in  my  own  heart  a 
disposition  to  call  down  fire  on  poor  Cain  Mongrel's 
enemies,  for  instance  !  How  different  from  Him  4  who, 
when  He  was  reviled,  reviled  not  again ;  when  He  suf- 
fered, threatened  not,  but  committed  all  to  Him  who 
judgeth  righteously!'  Even  the  spirit  with  which  I 
have  administered  rebukes  in  His  holy  name,  have  not 


276  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

been  as  Christ-like  as  they  should  have  been.  And 
then,  the  other  day,  when  I  heard  that  some  poor 
ignorant  woman  had  said  I  was  proud  of  my  small 
white  hands,  I  became  impatient,  and  muttered  some- 
thing more  like  an  imprecation  than  a  prayer.  Even 
now  I  feel  indignant,  but  " — "  Don't  try  to  extenuate," 
said  the  still  small  voice,  "  you  scarcely  thought  the 
woman  herself  believed  what  she  said  ;  you  knew  that 
the  charge  was  a  false  one,  and  yet  your  eye  flashed, 
your  pale  brow  flushed,  your  lip  curled,  and  your 
heart ! — that  alas  !  was  the  secret  chamber  where  all 
that  unholy  fire  lay  before  it  flared  and  burned,  and 
hissed  and  seared.  Yes,  it  is  all  true ;  the  sin  laid  at 
your  door  was  a  contemptible  weakness,  one  that  never 
seemed  to  have  presented  itself  to  your  own  mind  as 
a  temptation ;  one  that  you  were  least  willing  to  be 
thought  guilty  of;  but  Satan  knew  your  sensitive  point, 
and  assailed  you  as  he  did,  just  on  that  very  account. 
And  you,  instead  of  parrying  his  blow,  and  quenching 
his  darts  with  the  shield  of  faith,  allowed  him  to  get 
between  the  joints  of  your  armor.  And  these  are 
only  two  instances  in  which  you  were  angered  that 
occur  to  you  now.  Turn  over  the  leaves  of  your  life's 
book,  and  every  page  is  scorched  and  blackened.  How 
different  the  record  of  the  Meek  and  Lowly — the  Sin- 
less One.  0  !  Petit  Meagre,  Petit  Meagre  !  How 
great  your  shortcomings  and  your  sins  !  For  all  of 
these  your  heart  must  lie  in  ashes  at  your  Saviour's 
feet." 

While  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  the  young 


SELF-CONDEMNATION.  277 

parson's  mind,  his  deacon  was  sitting  by  his  side,  to  all 
appearances  deriving  a  quiet  satisfaction  from  the 
simple  fact  that  he  was  in  his  pastor's  company. 
Turning  around  at  last,  he  noticed  a  tear  of  contri- 
tion that  was  coming  down  the  youthful  clergyman's 
cheek.  David  was  evidently  frightened.  The  usual 
smile  vanished  from  his  face  in  an  instant.  "  What's 
the  matter,  Mr.  Meagre  ?  "  he  asked,  in  great  trepida- 
tion. "  Did  I  say  or  do  anything  wrong?" 

"No,  no,  my  dear  brother." 

"Are  you  sick  ?    Whoa,  Lyd  !    Shall  I  stop  at  this 
house  and  get  you  some  water  ?  " 

"  Oh  no.     Go  on.     I  am  simply  sin-sick." 

Poor  David  was  more  astonished  than  ever.  It  had 
perhaps  never  occurred  to  him  that  Rev.  Petit  Meagre 
had  any  sins  to  make  him  sick.  For  the  love  that  he 
bore  to  him  had  so  completely  thrown  the  mantle  of 
charity  over  his  faults  that  he  could  not  see  them,  and 
as  for  the  dreadful  mystery  of  sin  lurking  way  down 
in  the  heart,  the  good  deacon  perhaps  thought  of  that 
as  something  peculiar  to  himself.  "Now,  Mr.  Mea-* 
gre,"  he  said,  half  chidingly,  "  you,  a  minister  that 
can  preach  so  nice,  and  that  ain't  stuck  up  because 
vou're  well  born  and  high  learnt ;  that  just  does  all 
the  good  you  can  for  everybody  —  going  away  out 
here  to  see  poor  Phoebe  —  you  talk  that  way !  It 
seems  different  to  everybody  else  from  what  it  does 
to  you." 

"Brother  David,"  said  the  young  parson,  "I  be- 
lieve that  you  honestly  think  I  try  to  be  humble,  kind, 
24 


278  THE    Y  0  U  N\3     PARSON. 

and  faithful,  but  you  surely  do  not  think  me  sinless, 
or  even  without  great  faults.  Do  you  ?  " 

"  No  !  there  is  only  One  that's  sinless  when  a  hody 
remembers  right,  but  —  but  " 

"  But  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  didn't  think  you  ministers  had  to  struggle 
against  your  own  sins  like  I  have.  Thought  all  the 
trouble  was  keeping  the  church  members  right." 

"  There  is  just  where  you  are  mistaken,  my  brother. 
Perhaps  no  class  of  people  are  more  bowed  down  by 
a  sense  of  their  personal  unworthiness  than  ministers 
of  the  gospel.  I  will  warrant  that  going  up  on  the 
mount  where  God  appeared,  made  Moses  more  humble 
than  he  would  have  been  if  he  had  always  remained 
in  the  valley.  Those  who  study  the  Saviour's  char- 
acter most,  are  the  least  disposed  to  boast  of  what 
they  themselves  are.  I  have  just  been  comparing 
myself  with  his  spotless  standard,  and  God  knows, 
and  I  know,  if  you  do  not,  that  I  have  enough  to 
mourn  over." 

"  Feel  like  as  if  you  don't  deserve  anything  but 
wrath  ? "  asked  David,  apparently  anxious  to  see  if 
any  one  felt  like  he  did,  and  yet  half  doubtful  whether 
that  could  be  so. 

"Yes  indeed,  my  dear  brother,"  answered  the  par- 
son, "and  I  pity  the  man  who  does  not  feel  so." 

"And  what  must  you  do,  then?"  inquired  David. 

"  Just  what  you  have  to  do.  A  minister  must  trust 
in  the  merits  of  Christ,  and  pray  for  grace  and  strength, 
exactly  like  any  other  poor  sinner.  We  are  all  on  the 
same  level  in  that  respect." 


THE    ROAD    TO    PHGBBE'S    HOUSE.       279 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  ROAD  TO  PHOEBE'S  HOUSE. 

WHEN  the  young  parson  and  his  deacon  reached  the 
place  where  Shallow  Creek  crossed  the  road  over  which 
they  had  been  travelling,  ''David  turned  off  and  took 
up  the  stream.  "This  road,"  he  said,  "would  guide 
any  one  right  over  to  the  mountain  where  Hannah's 
folks  live.  It  is  a  little  rough,  but  it  is  shady,  and 
now  that  the  sun's  rising,  it  would  be  warm  any  other 
'way.  Besides,  this  is  the  shortest  route.  We  have 
now  five  miles  to  go." 

From  this  point  onward,  Mr.  Meagre  was  completely 
charmed  by  the  natural  beauties  around  him.  The 
route  lay  through  a  sequestered  valley  ;  it  was  almost 
a  hidden  way,  evidently  but  little  travelled.  The  road 
itself,  which  kept  close  by  the  stream  and  crossed  it 
frequently,  was  rough.  Here  a  rugged  rock  jutted 
up  from  the  uneven  bed  ;  there  a  gully  required  care- 
ful driving,  and  occasionally  a  deep  ravine  had  to  be 
passed.  But  God's  own  hand  had  completely  em- 
bowered it  with  living  green.  Gnarled  oaks,  wide- 
armed  beech  trees,  and  thickly  foliaged  bushes,  seemed 
not  only  to  canopy,  but  wall  up  the  way,  so  as  to  keep 
out  the  sun's  rays,  except  now  and  then,  when  they 
would  break  in  and  light  up  a  vista  away  off  through 


280  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

the  woods.  And  then  the  cone-shaped  cedars  with 
their  blue  berries,  the  mantling  vines,  the  laurels,  the 
ferns,  the  moss,  the  dew-drops,  shining  brightest  in  the 
sunbeams  that  absorbed  them,  how  beautiful  they  all 
were  !  The  stream,  too,  was  beautiful ;  shallow,  but 
clear  as  crystal,  whether  sparkling  in  the  light  or 
embrowned  with  shade,  it  showed  the  white  pebbles 
and  golden  sand,  or  multiplied  the  glories  of  waving 
branch  or  mottled  sky.  No  wonder  that  the  young 
parson  was  in  a  glee  !  No  -wonder  that  the  two  church 
dignitaries  were  two  hours  going  those  five  miles  !  for 
Rev.  Petit  got  out  and  walked  a  great  deal,  and  took 
off  his  gloves  to  play  with  the  laughing  ripples  and 
feel  the  velvety  moss  that  carpeted  the  banks.  Once 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  the  bed  of  the  road  lay  right 
in  the  channel  of  the  stream,  and  when  Rev.  Petit 
noticed  that  the  water  was  not  even  clouded  by  the 
passage  of  the  carriage,  he  wanted  to  take  off  his 
shoes  and  stockings  and  wade  as  he  had  done  when 
more  of  a  boy  than  he  was  now. 

But  David  protested.  "Mr.  Meagre,"  he  said, 
"  that  water's  very  cold.  You  might  catch  your  death, 
and  then  I'd  never  forgive  myself." 

"  0,  no  danger,  Brother  Early,  I  take  a  cold  bath 
every  morning." 

"  But  that's  different,  Mr.  Meagre.  I  am  afraid 
Mrs.  Middleton  will  give  it  to  me  anyhow,  for  letting 
you  do  what  you  have  done." 

"What,  David?" 


THE    ROAD    TO    P  H  (E  B  E  '  S    HOUSE.       281 

"  Why,  look  at  your  shirt  sleeves :  they're  wet  up 
to  the  elbows." 

Sure  enough,  they  were  wet.  The  young  parson 
commenced  to  wring  them  as  well  as  he  could.  **  Do 
you  think,"  he  asked,  "that  Mrs.  Middleton  will  scold 
because  I  have  soiled  my  wristbands?  " 

"No,  indeed!  she  wouldn't  scold  if  you  would  sile 
a  shirt  every  hour  in  the  week ;  but  if  you  should  get 
a  sore  throat  and  couldn't  preach  any  more,  what 
then  ?  " 

"  Then  I  would  do  my  best  to  clear  you  from  all 
blame  in  the  matter." 

At  length  the  enthusiastic  parson  and  his  smiling 
deacon  emerged  from  the  shady  road  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain.  It  was  just  where  the  South  Branch  is  cut 
by  a  gorge  or  gap.  Although  the  sun  had  been  up 
for  about  two  hours,  the  mists  were  just  rising  from 
the  valley,  and  touched  by  the  beams,  burnished  the 
tree-covered  sides  and  top  of  the  high  ridge  with 
purple  and  gold.  Rev.  Petit  just  caught  hold  of  David's 
arm  and  exclaimed,  "  0  !  0  ! !  0  ! ! !  " 

"What?"  asked  David,  stopping  the  horse. 

"  Look  at  that  baptism  of  glory." 

"  That's  very  nice,  but  you  ought  to  be  up  on  the 
peak  a  little  earlier,  and  look  down." 

"  That  must  be  beautiful  too,"  remarked  the  parson, 
"  I  would  travel  all  night  to  have  such  a  morning  view 
as  that." 

"  Up  there's  where  Hannah's  folks  live,"  said  David, 
24* 


282  THE    YOUNG     l>  All  SON. 

pointing  with  his  whip  to  a  white  cot  perched  like  an 
eagle's  nest  on  some  Alpine  crag. 

"And  a  beautiful  place  it  is,  too,"  said  the  parson ; 
"this  must  be  like  Switzerland." 

"  The  man  that  owns  it  now  is  from  there,"  said 
David.  "  He  bought  it  on  that  account.  He's  just 
come  back  from  the  old  country  and  thinks  he'll  want 
it.  He  allows  to  raise  grapes  on  the  side  of  the  hill 
there." 

"  I  will  be  sorry  if  your  folks  are  compelled  to  leave 
it,"  said  the  young  parson. 

"Yes,"  said  David,  "but  if  it  must  be  so,  we  can't 
complain  ;  I've  partly  rented  a  house  for  them  in  town 
— that  little  one  back  in  Dr.  Arlington's  apple  orchard." 

"Well,  that  is  nice,  too,  but  not  half  as  pretty  as 
this.  However,  your  friends  will  be  nearer  to  the 
church.  How  are  we  to  get  up  there?  " 

"  Road  winds  here,"  said  David.  "  There  is  an 
easier  one  comes  up  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountain, 
or  else  Phoebe  never  could  have  stood  it  to  be  moved." 

"  There  is  not  a  prettier  one,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  con- 
fidently. 

"  Have  to  get  you  to  light  out  here,  Mr.  Meagre," 
said  David,  when  they  got  near  the  cot.  "  I  can't 
turn  the  wagon  around  if  I  drive  up  quite  to  the 
house." 

Mrs.  Ross,  David's  mother-in-law,  came  out  to  meet 
the  young  parson,  and  having  been  duly  introduced', 
he  went  into  the  house  with  her.  The  fence  and  the 
cottage  were  as  white  as  snow,  and  fragrant  jessamines 


THE    ROAD.'TO     P  H  (E  B  E '  S    HOUSE.       283 

clambered  over  the  door  and  windows.  Mr.  Meagre 
noticed,  as  he  entered  the  little  wicket-gate,  that  even 
the  stone  slabs  leading  to  the  house  looked  as  if  they 
had  been  scoured. 

"  What  a  beautiful  view  you  have  here,  and  how 
white  your  house  is,"  he  remarked  to  Mrs.  Ross. 

"  The  house  is  very  humble,"  she  replied,  "  but  it's 
clean.  I  often  think,  however  poor  one  is,  they  can 
yet  get  a  peck  of  lime." 

The  young  parson  never  forgot  this  last  remark. 
Within  the  house  everything  was  scrupulously  clean. 
The  tall  case  of  drawers  with  brass  handles,  the  table, 
the  chairs,  all  oaken,  were  as  white  as  they  could  be 
made  by  scrubbing,  and  the  floor  was  nicely  sanded. 

"And  this,"  said  the  young  parson,  pleasantly,  as 
he  entered  the  room,  "  this  is  Phccbe." 

u  Yes  sir,"  said  the  poor  girl  with  a  sweet,  bright 
smile.  "This  is  me." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

LITTLE    PHffiBE,    THE    CRIPPLE  — THE    FIRST 
INTERVIEW. 

PHCEBE  Ross  was,  as  David  Early  had  said,  sixteen 
years  old,  and  had  never  walked  a  step  in  her  life. 
When  the  young  parson  entered  the  cot,  he  found  her 


284  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

on  a  hickory  chair,  which  had  evidently  been  made 
for  her  own  especial  use.  It  was  fastened  upon  a 
platform,  which  rested  on  four  low  wheels,  so  that  it 
could  be  moved  about  without  any  inconvenience  to 
the  occupant. 

The  poor  child's  enlarged  head  exhibited  a  sad  case 
of  malformation.  For  the  rest  of  her  physical  imper- 
fections, it  is  sufficient  to  say,  that  the  part  of  the 
human  system  which  we  know  as  bone  had  never,  in 
her  case,  become  ossified,  but  remained  soft  like  carti- 
lage as  in  a  newly-born  babe.  Dr.  Arlington  after- 
wards told  Mr.  Meagre,  that  the  case  was  a  most 
wonderful  one.  He  had  written  a  paper  upon  it  for 
a  medical  society  in  one  of  the  cities,  and  several 
eminent  physicians  had  made  long  journeys- to  exam- 
ine the  child.  For  the  first  three  years  in  her  life 
she  had  not  been  able  to  hold  up  her  head  at  all ;  it 
would  just  fall  over  on  her  shoulder  as  if  her  neck 
had  been  broken.  How  this  could  be  without  a  sever- 
ance of  the  spinal  column  was  the  mystery  with  the 
men  of  science. 

During  this  period,  Phoebe  had  been  carried  on  a 
pillow,  her  friends  scarcely  expecting  that  she  would 
live  from  one  day  to  another.  Yet  while  many  a  ro- 
bust person  had  been  cut  down  in  the  unbent  strength 
of  manhood,  this  poor  child  had  lingered  on  through 
these  long  years.  Her  afflictions  of  course  only  en- 
deared her  the  more  to  her  mother,  although  the  good 
woman  said  she  had  often  prayed  that  the  sufferings 
of  her  child  might  be  relieved  by  death.  The  father, 


LITTLE    PHCEBE,    THE    CRIPPLE.        285 

alas  !  was  dissipated,  and  not  attentive  to  his  family, 
often  staying  away  for  weeks  and  even  months  at  a 
time. 

Phoebe's  mind  was  that  of  a  child  four  years  old, 
perfectly  sound,  but  undeveloped,  and  of  course  with, 
out  the  strength  common  to  those  who  have  attained 
to  her  age.  It  occurred  to  the  young  parson  that  if 
Locke's  theory,  that  the  mind  is  originally  like  a  blank 
sheet  of  paper,  were  true,  here  might  be  an  unsullied 
page,  and  he  felt  anxious  about  the  first  impression 
to  be  made  upon  it.  He  prayed,  however,  that  God 
would  write  His  law  upon  her  heart.  To  the  poor 
child  surrounded  by  such  bold,  wild  scenery,  the 
forces  of  nature  perhaps  seemed  to  be  themselves 
divine  and  preternatural,  and  although  her  mother 
had  probaby  spoken  to  her  about  a  Personal  God,  and 
did  all  she  could  to  instruct  her,  her  knowledge  was 
of  course  very  limited.  Here,  however,  was  an  im- 
mortal spirit,  and  a  rational  mind,  and  even  that  frail 
body  might  become  a  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and 
the  whole  being  of  the  little  cripple  sanctified  and 
savecl  —  made  to  shine  at  God's  right  hand  through 
infinite  riches  of  grace  in  Christ  Jesus  our  Lord. 

Little  Phoebe  gazed  at  the  young  parson  with  child- 
like interest.  She  seemed  highly  delighted  that  he 
had  come  to  see  her,  and  soon  the  two  were  engaged 
in  a  pleasant  talk.  "You  can  see  very  far  from 
here,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  pointing  out  of  the  window, 
44  and  the  sky,  the  mountain-sides,  and  all  the  green 
and  yellow  fields  are  very  pretty." 


286  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

"My  mother  says,  God  made  them,"  said  Phoeb6> 
"and  I  reckon  that's  the  reason  they  look  so  nice." 

"  Yes,  Phoebe,  God  made  them,  and  they  show  us 
how  great  and  good  He  is.  I  hope  that  you  and  I 
will  be  able  to  talk  a  great  deal  about  Him,  and  His 
love  for  us." 

"  Brother  David  said  you  would  talk  about  that 
when  you'd  come,  and  my  mother  says  if  we  move  to 
town,  rnebbe  I  may  go  to  church.  Theresa  and 
Emma  was  often  there.  Them's  sister  Hannah's 
little  gals  :  they  can  all  both  walk  as  good  as  mother  ; 
and  they  often  was  in  meetin.  They  told  me  the  big 
church-house  aint  got  no  bureau  in  it,  and  is  full  of 
benches,  and  all  the  people  sets  on  the  benches,  and 
you  go  up  the  stair  steps  on  the  big  pulpit,  and  the 
people  sings  and  prays,  and  you  preaches.  I  wish  I 
was  so  as  I  could  set  on  one  of  the  benches." 

"Well,  Phoebe,"  said  fche  young  parson,  deeply 
touched,  "  if  you  move  to  town,  you  shall  go  to  church. 
David  and  I  can  carry  you  there  on  your  chair  before 
all  the  people  come,  and  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  you. 
You  have  been  baptized  I  believe." 

"Yes,"  said  Phoebe,  "My  mother  said  Minister 
Hugenot  baptized  me,  when  I  was  little.  I  wasn't 
'spected  to  live  then,  but  my  mother  says  it  was  God's 
will  that  I  should  live." 

"Yes,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "and  I  want  to  tell  you  a 
great  deal  about  those  things.  Above  all  I  want  you 
*x)  know  that  God  has  promised  to  be  your  reconciled 


LITTLE    PHCEBE,    THE     CRIPPLE.        287 

Father,  for  Jesus  Christ's  sake.  Have  you  ever  tried 
to  learn  to  read,  Phoebe?" 

"  Yes  sir,  at.  least  ways  my  mother  and  Hannah 
tried  to  learn  me  my  a  b  c's,  but  I  got  the  spasms, 
and  the  Doctor  said  it  was  too  much  for  my  brains 
and  nerves ;  but  I  can  look  at  the  pictures  in  the  big 
Bible  book,  when  mother  holds  it  for  me." 

"  Well,  never  mind  about  learning  to  read.  I  can 
teach  you  a  great  deal  without  that,  just  by  telling 
you  things,  even  if  we  cannot  talk  much  at  one  time. 
I  hope  to  see  you  very  often,  especially  if  you  come 
to  town,  and  I  think  we  will  be  first-rate  friends," 
said  the  parson. 

"  Then  I  hope  we  will  move  to  town  then.  I  was 
in  town  when  we  moved ;  there  was  a  whole  heap  of 
houses  on  both  sides  of  the  road,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  You  are  to  move  to  a  town  next  week,  but  not 
the  one  you  come  through,"  said  David,  who  had  just 
been  having  a  talk  with  Mrs.  "Ross  outside  of  the 
house.  "  Mother  says  old  Mr.  Bingen  was  here 
yesterday,  and  says  how  he'd  like  to  have  his  place, 
and  I've  got  the  refusing  of  Dr.  Arlington's  till  Satur- 
day night,  and  so  I'll  just  tell  him  this  evening  that 
I  will  take  it." 

Phoebe  smiled,  and  Mrs.  Ross  said  she  was  almost 
reconciled  to  lea^ve  her  old  home  again  so  soon,  in  the 
hope  that  it  might  be  of  some  advantage  to  her  poor 
child. 

"  But  how  am  I  to  be  moved  ?  "  asked  Phoebe. 

"0,"  said  David,  "  I  can  manage  that  just  as  we 


283  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

did  when  we  brought  you  here :  take  the  front  seat 
out  of  the  concern,  and  set  your  chair  in,  with  you 
in  it." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Meagre,  judging  from  what  we  heard 
you  say  when  we  were  at  the  door,  you  think  you  can 
teach  Phoebe  something  without  making  her  study  the 
book,"  said  Mrs.  Ross. 

"  0  yes.  I  can  teach  her  by  talking  to  her.  You 
know  that  the  command  was  to  preach  the  gospel,  and 
that  many  become  savingly  acquainted  with  the  truth 
who  never  learn  to  read.  One  of  the  most  merciful 
provisions  of  our  holy  religion  is,  that  it  is  suited  to 
those  of  the  humblest  capacities,  and  God  often  hides 
things  from  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  reveals  them 
unto  babes  !  " 

"I  didn't  know  whether  Phoebe  had  mind  enough," 
said  the  poor  woman,  pitifully. 

"Mother  thought,"  said  David,  "that  being  as 
Phoebe  couldn't  leaTn  to  read,  mebbe  there  wasn't 
foundation  enough  to  work  on,  in  teaching  her  about 
religion.  You  know  there  must  be  a  sort  of  basis,  or 
at  least  ways,  I  always  thought  so.  You  can't  well 
teach  a  man  unless  he's  sound-minded.  But  I  told 
mother  that  if  such  was  Phoebe's  case,  she  would  not 
be  'countable." 

"You  are  right,  David,"  said  the  parson,  "but 
there  is  basis  enough  here  for  the  Holy  Spirit  to  work 
upon,  and  it  is  upon  His  agency  and  power  that  I 
expect  to  rely.  We  have  no  right  to  limit  His  work, 
you  know,  and  without  that,  the  most  towering  Intel- 


LITTLEPH(EBE,     THE    CRIPPLE.       289 

lect  is  insufficient.  The  highest  truth  is  '  spiritually 
discerned.  Christ  is  the  truth,  and  no  man  can  say 
that  Jesus  Christ  is  Lord,  but  by  the  Holy  Ghost.' 
By  the  way,  Mrs.  Ross,  you  pray  with  Phoebe?" 

"  Night  and  morning,  regular,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  of  course  you  pray  aloud  ?  " 

*  Why,  yes,  Mr.  Meagre,  to  tell  the  truth  I  do,  but 
we  are  here  alone,  and  " 

"All  right,"  said  the  parson,  "it  would  be  wrong 
for  you  not  to  do  so.  I  asked  the  question  because  I 
wished  to  suggest  to  you  to  use  the  Lord's  prayer  at 
the  close  of  your  other  petitions,  at  least,  and  have 
Phoebe  repeat  it^after  you." 

"  I  wish  it  was  night  now,  so  that  you  could  pray 
with  us,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  I  can  do  that  at  any  rate,"  said  the  young  parson, 
"and  I  expect  to  do  it  before  I  leave ;  we  ought  to 
feel  like  praying  at  all  times,  Phoebe." 

Phoebe  smiled,  and  seemed  to  muse  over  this  last 
remark.  Mr.  Meagre  watched  her  countenance,  and 
waited  for  her  to  indicate  her  line  of  thought.  In  a 
little  while  she  broke  the  silence  by  saying :  "  My 
mother  says  God  won't  'spect  me  to  kneel  down  on 
my  knees  when  I  say  my  prayers,  but  mother,  she  al- 
ways kneels  down  when  she  says  her  prayers." 

"No,  Phoebe,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  "  God  never  asks 
us  to  do  what  we  cannot  do.  Even  when  He  tells  us 
to  love  and  serve  Him,  He  helps  us  to  do  it.  But  even 
those  of  us  who  can  kneel,  and  ought  to  kneel  some- 
times, may  pray  to  God  when  we  are  not  kneeling.  I 

•  25 


290  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

love  to  pray  when  I  am  walking  or  riding.  You  and 
I  can  pray  sitting  here,  even  if  our  lips  do  not  move. 
We  can  wish  in  our  hearts  that  our  Heavenly  Father 
will  forgive  and  bless  us." 

While  this  conversation  was  taking  place,  Mrs.  Ross 
was  passing  in  and  out  of  the  house,  and  it  was  soon 
apparent  that  she  was  getting  dinner.  This  she  had 
been  cooking  out  in  the  yard  at  one  end  of  the  cot, 
under  a  shed  made  of  four  forked  pieces  of  wood  stuck 
into  the  ground  with  the  prongs  upward,  and  sur- 
mounted with  cross-pieces,  over  which  bushes  were 
thrown.  The  good  woman  spread  no  cloth,  nor  was 
it  necessary,  for  the  table  was  so  clean  that  it  almost 
shone.  Upon  this  table  she  placed  three  bright  pewter 
platters,  and  deposited  in  the  centre  a  dish  of  nicely 
stewed  chicken.  This,  with  the  first  of  her  crop  of 
sweet  potatoes,  the  last  of  her  green  corn,  some  Irish 
potatoes,  some  tomatoes,  a  loaf  of  brown  bread,  and 
a  crock  of  milk,  made  up  the  fare. 

"  Come,  Mr.  Meagre,  take  that  seat,"  said  the  good 
woman,  "  David,  you  can  set  behind  the  table  on  the 
bench." 

"And  where  is  Phosbe  to  sit  ?  "  asked  the  young 
parson,  looking  at  the  cleanly  dressed  child,  "  I  will 
enjoy  the  dinner  more  if  she  eats  with  us." 

*__'  I  thought  Phoebe  could  wait,"  said  Mrs.  Ross, 
"  but  she  can  feed  herself  right  good  now,  sometimes, 
and,  if  you  wish  it,  David  will  draw  her  chair  up  on 
this  side  next  to  me." 

"Well,  then,  get  my  little  porringer,"  said  Phoebe. 


_ LITTLE     PHOSBE,     THE    CRIPPLE.        291 

"  Mr.  Meagre,  I  eats  bread  and  milk.  They  say  that 
makes  bones." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Ross,  "  but  the  doctor  says  I  must 
allow  you  some  stronger  food  now,  and  I  think  you 
must  eat  a  little  potato  and  gravy  to-day." 

By  this  time,  Phoebe  was  pulled  up  to  the  table,  and 
a  little  glazed  earthen  vessel  with  handles  put  before 
her.  The  poor  child  then  tried  to  fold  her  hands  and 
assume  a  reverential  posture  until  the  blessing  was 
asked.  When  this  was  done,  Mrs.  Ross  was  about  to 
say  something  in  regard  to  the  humble  repast,  but 
David  checked  her.  "  You  needn't  'pologize  to  Mr. 
Meagre,"  he  said,  "  I'll  be  bound  he'll  enjoy  this  din- 
ner as  muqh  as  if  it  was  a  fashionable  one  among  the 
bigbugs  in  Gainfield." 

"  You  were  not  going  to  apologize  for  that  dinner, 
were  you  ?  "  asked  the  young  parson,  smiling. 

Mrs.  Ross  acknowledged  by  her  silence  that  she  was, 
but  Rev.  Petit  gave  her  a  queer  look,  and  went  into 
such  a  severe  knife  and  fork  exercise,  that  she  was  at 
once  convinced  that  she  need  not  give  herself  any 
further  uneasiness.  Nay,  when  the  meal  was  nearly 
over,  she  confessed  that  her  clerical  guest  had  eaten 
heartily.  "  I'd  like  to  cook  for  you  always,"  she  said, 
u  if  you  enjoy  yourself  so  much  in  eating.  I  was  afraid 
it  was  too  early  for  you,  but  David  reckoned  you  had 
an  uncommon  early  breakfast." 

The  young  parson  owned  up  that  he  was  a  very  good 
feeder  at  all  times,  and  said  the  dinner  was  not  too 
early,  as  his  ride  and  the  bracing  mountain  air,  had 


292  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

given  him  an  appetite.  "  But  how  in  the  world  do  you 
keep  your  milk  so  cool,  Mrs.  Ross?"  he  asked,  as  his 
hostess  replenished  his  cup  with  a  tin  skimmer. 

"  Keep  it  in  the  spring,"  replied  the  woman. 

"  But  it  must  tax  your  strength  to  get  up  and  down 
the  hill." 

"  0,"  said  David,  "  she  don't  have  to  go  to  the  one 
we  passed  coming  up  here.  There  is  one  just  around 
the  knoll,  very  nigh  on  a  level  with  this  floor." 

"  What,  so  high  as  this  ?  I'll  venture  the  opinion 
that  you  have  something  very  pretty.  Does,  the  water 
run  down  over  the  rocks  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  David,  "  and  you  ought  to  see  it.  You'd 
think  it  nice." 

After  dinner  the  young  parson  lit  a  cigar  and  went 
out  to  look  at  the  spring.  He  found  it  to  be  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  things  he  had  ever  beheld.  The 
pure  water  bubbled  up  into  an  irregular  basin  in  the 
solid  rocks,  and  then  leaped  down  the  mountain  side, 
forming  a  lovely  cascade. 

"Better  go  round  on  t'other  side,"  said  David, 
"  always  a  rainbow  there,  when  the  sun's  shining." 

Mr.  Meagre  walked  around,  and  sure  enough,  there, 
lying  as  it  were  against  the  tree  tops,  were  all  the 
beautiful  tints  that  the  light  makes  when  it  kisses  the 
spray.  Rev.  Petit  became  enthusiastic,  sentimental, 
and  at  last  romantic.  At  first  he  was  disposed  to  stand 
still  and  scream  out  of  pure  admiration,  then  he  almost 
wept  because  his  humble  friends  had  to  leave  their 
beautiful  home,  wished  that  they  could  siay  there  just 


LITTLE    PH05BE,    THE    CRIPPLE.        293 

that  he  might  come  to  see  them  often,  and  resolved  to 
cultivate  the  acquaintance  of  old  Mr.  Bingen,  so  that 
if  ever  he  got  a  sweetheart  he  could  ride  up  there  on 
horseback  with  her.  At  length  it  occured  to  him  that 
when  he  got  rich  hy  preaching,  he  would  buy  the  place 
and  enlarge  the  cottage  for  a  summer  residence.  He 
might  build  another  around  the  hill  and  give  it  to  Mrs. 
Ross  as  a  permanent  home,  with  an  annuity,  just  for 
keeping  things  in  order  in  the  winter.  Pretty  idea, 
wasn't  it  ?  Finally  the  ardent  young  man  solemnly 
promised  himself  that  he' would  visit  the  place  at  least 
once  every  summer,  and  that  if  ever  he  got  a  congre- 
gation that  could  support  a  married  man,  and  then 
succeeded  in  getting  a  wife,  he  would  bring  her  to  see 
his  friends,  the  Middletons,  and  come  out  to  that  very 
spot  on  just  such  a  day,  to  show  Mrs.  Meagre  that 
there  were  some  things  about  the  mountains  of  America 
nmoh  handsomer  than  any  she  had  seen  while  on  her 
wedding  trip  to  Paris. 

After  an  hour  spent  at  the  spring,  die  young  parson 
went  into  the  cottage  and  had  another  talk,  and  a 
prayer  with  Phoebe  and  her  mother,  and  then  started 
home,  expecting  to  meet  his  new  friends -again  in  Pum- 
beditha.  David  wanted  to  go  around  the  "  far  way," 
to  save  his  pastor  a  jolting,  but  to  this  Rev.  Petit 
objected.  He  enjoyed  the  evening  ride  as  much  as 
he  had  enjoyed  the  one  in  the  morning,  the  only  dif- 
ference in  the  beautiful  things  around  him  being  that 
the  sun  shone  upon  them  from  the  west  instead  of  from 
the  east,  and  gave  the  same  picture  with  different 


294  THE     YOUNG     PARS  0  *  . 

lights  and  shades.  David  occasionally  made  a  droll 
remark.  The  only  person  the  two  excursionists  met, 
was  a  man  with  a  load  of  hoop-poles.  One  of  his 
horses  was  dead  lame,  and  the  deacon  thought  the 
man  would  have  made  better  progress  if  he  had  "  un- 
screwed that  old  gray's  right  hind  leg  and  left  it  at 
home."  The  young  parson  concluded  that  Sidney 
Smith  would  not  have  fooled  David  Early  with  his 
jokes,  as  the  one  just  perpetrated  was  worthy  of  the 
English  wit  himself.  Most  of  the  time  on  the  way 
was  spent  in  the  silent  enjoyment  of  nature  —  itself 
so  quiet,  except  that  the  water  babbled  incessantly, 
and  the  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  was  heard  in  the  distance, 
mingling  very  prettily  with  the  sound  of  the  running 
brook. 

The  parson  and  the  deacon  got  back  to  Mr.  Middle- 
ton's  early  in  the  evening,  greatly  pleased  with  their 
trip.  Rev.  Petit  had  much  to  say  about  Mrs.  Ross 
and  Phoebe,  and  the  splendid  things  he  had  seen 
during  the  day.  David  too  had  his  yarn  to  tell,  but 
with  him  his  pastor  was  the  central  figure,  and  of 
course  he  talked  most  about  Mr.  Meagre. 

"Was  monsus  interestin',''  he  said  to  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton,  "  to  see  our  little  parson  to-day.  If  any  body'd 
a  been  out  shooting  preachers,  they'd  a  never  pinted 
a  gun  at  him.  Looked  so  child-like  enjoyin'  every- 
thing God  had  made,  even  down  to  the  stones  and 
sand  in  the  bottom  of  the  crick." 

"He  did  not  put  on  any  airs  then?"  asked  Mrs. 
Middleton. 


LITTLE    PIKE  BE,     THE    CRIP.PLE.         29f 

41  Not  him,"  said  David,  "couldn't  help  but  con 
trast  him  with  Bill  Bottles,  that  ain't  got  any  more 
learnin'  than  I  have.  Rode  with  Bill  one  day,  and 
you'd  a  thought  he  was  goin'  to  put  one  foot  on  the 
North  pole,  and  one  foot  on  the  South  pole,  take  a 
tar-paddle  from  the  East  and  a  tar-paddle  from  the 
West,  and  grease  the  gudgeon  of  the 'universe.  But 
they  say  that  all  the  great  men  is  simple-like,  and  I 
believe  it  now,  since  I  know  Mr.  Meagre  so  well. 
Mother-in-law  herself  told  me  afore  we  come  away, 
that  if  she'd  been  blind,  and  just  heard  him  talking 
so  plain-like  to  Phoebe,  she  wouldn't  a  believed  that 
he  was  the  big  little  preacher.  But  one  thing  did 
'stonish  me,  Mrs.  Middleton.  I  found  out  that  Mr. 
Meagre  thinks  he  is  the  worst  sinner  alive.  Believe 
me  or  not,  I  cotch  him  a  cry  in'  over  it  to  day,  and  he 
did  corner  me  up  awful  tight  when  I  'tempted  to  rea- 
son him  out  of  it.  Don't  believe  he  thinks  he's  any 
higher  up  in  grace  than  I  am." 

Dear,  good,  simple-hearted  David  Early !  He  did 
really  think  Rev.  Petit  was  a  great  man.  After  the 
kind  remarks  he  had  made,  he  left  a  five  dollar  note 
with  Mrs.  Middleton  for  his  pastor,  and  suggested  to 
her  that,  "  Bein'  as  Mr.  Meagre  had  eat  an  early 
breakfast  and  an  early  dinner,  it  might  be  well  enough 
to  give  him  an  early  supper."  But  he  could  not  be 
prevailed  upon  to  stay  himself  for  tea.  He  went  to 
tell  Dr.  Arlington  he  would  take  the  house,  then  put 
the  saddle  that  he  had  rode  on  in  the  morning  into 
the  "  Diligence,"  and  went  home  to  give  Hannah  and 


296  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

the  children  a  history  of  the  day's  proceedings.  He 
•  came  to  town  early  next  morning,  however,  to  see  if 
Mr.  Meagre  had  cotch  cold  from  playin'  in  the  water  ; 
to  ask  whether  it  was  not  a  sin  to  talk  the  way  he  did 
about  a  poor  old  gray  horse ;  and  'pologize  for  them 
unchristian  words  he  had  used  about  Mr.  Bottles. 

The  young  parson  concluded  that  he  was  not  higher 
up  in  grace  than  his  humble  deacon. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

LIITLE  PHCEBE,  THE  CRIPPLE  — HOW  WAS  SHE  TO  BK 
TAUGHT?  — A  CALL  AT  DR.  ARLINGTON'S. 

WHEN  the  time  for  the  young  parson's  next  regular 
service  in  Pumbeditha  came,  he  found  Mrs.  Ross  and 
her  afflicted  daughter  living  in  the  little  old  stone 
house,  with  large  out-side  chimney,  and  red  baton 
shutters,  in  Dr.  Arlington's  apple  orchard.  Although 
they  had  only  been  there  about  ten  days,  Mrs.  Ross 
had  the  walls  as  white  as  those  of  the  house  she  had 
left  on  the  mountain.  The  floor  too,  was  nicely 
sanded,  and  the  sweet-brier  that  grew  by  the  door, 
was  tied  up  with  no  small  degree  of  taste.  Even  the 
sticks  and  leaves  had  been  raked  and  swept  from 
under  the  trees,  so  that  the  matted  grass  was  perfectly 
clear  of  anything  like  dirt.  Phoebe  had  stood  the 
journey  very  well,  and  now  the  air  was  so  pure,  and 


LITTLE    PHCEBE,    THE    CRIPPLE.        297 

the  ground  so  dry,  that  she  was  permitted  to  sit  in 
her  chair  in  front  of  the  door.  It  was  here  that  Mr. 
Meagre  found  her.  She  was  rejoiced  to  see  him,  but 
he  had  only  time  to  say  how  glad  he  was  to  find  her 
so  well,  and  promised  her  that  if  the  weather  was 
clear  the  next  day,  she  should  go  to  church. 

"  I  can  see  the  church-house  from  here,"  said 
Phoebe,  "  and  I  beard  the  big  bell  ring,  when  a  man 
got  buried  the  other  day,  but  I  want  to  go  in  the 
church. 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  go  to-morrow," 
said  Mrs.  Ross. 

That  evening  the  young  parson  went  to  see  Dr. 
Arlington,  and  told  him  what  an  object  of  interest  he 
had  found  in  Phoebe.  It  was  then  that  the  Doctor 
told  him  the  facts  in  the  little  cripple's  history,  before 
referred  to  in  these  chapters.  "  By  the  way,"  he 
said,  *•  my  daughter  Mary  here,  has  had  her  mission- 
ary zeal  wonderfully  fired  up,  since  Phoebe's  advent. 
I  met  her  on  the  street  the  other  day,  with  both  hands 
full  of  primers,  and  I  suppose  she  would  have  taught 
the  child  all  that  she  knew  herself  by  this  time,  if  I 
had  not  stopped  her." 

"Now,  pa,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "you  know  she  would 
not  have  been  more  than  half  through  Telemaque,  and 
you  will  acknowledge  that  I  have  read  the  whole  of  it. 
But,  Mr.  Meagre,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  the 
poor  little  creature,  if  pa  will  not  allow  you  to  teach 
her  to  read?  Is  she  simple-minded?" 

"  Her  simplicity  is  that  of  a  child,  and  not  that  of 


THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

an  idiot,"  said  the  young  parson,  "and  I  am  inclined 
to  think  it  will  be  rather  an  advantage  in  instructing 
her." 

"You  are  doubtless  right  in  what  you  say,  Mr. 
Meagre,"  said  the  old  Doctor.  "Have  you  ever 
noticed  how  confiding  she  is  ?  For  instance,  always 
giving  her  mother  or  some  one  else  as  authority,  and 
seeming  to  think  that  anything  told  to  her  must  be 
true  ?  " 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  the  young  parson,  "  and  the  very 
thing  you  speak  of,  seems  to  be  an  essential  element 
of  child-like  simplicity.  I  have  often  thought  that 
such  credence  and  trust  come  about  as  near  to  the 
Christian's  faith  as  anything  attaching  to  the  mind 
of  the  merely  natural  man  can  come." 

"  I  have  often  thought  of  that,  too,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  The  '  faith '  of  your  Testament  is,  of  course,  the  work 
of  a  supernatural  agency,  but  such  unquestioning  re- 
liance as  we  see  in  Phoebe,  is  very  nearly  allied  to  it, 
especially  if  the  confidence  is  in  God." 

"  But  you  have  not  answered  my  question.  How 
are  you  going  to  instruct  Phoebe  ?  "  said  Miss  Arling- 
ton. "  I  ask  it  again,  because  I  am  wonderfully  in- 
terested in  the  child." 

"Excuse  me,  Miss  Mary,  I  thought  that  oral  in- 
struction would  be  best  suited  to  her,  and  I  have  some 
little  appliances  that  I  hope  will  help  the  work.  Here 
are  a  number  of  pictures  that  I  expect  to  give  her," 
said  Rev.  Petit,  taking  two  small  parcels  from  the 
breast-pocket  of  his  coat. 


LITTLE    PH(EBE,     THE    CRIPPLE.       299 

"  I  see,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "  that  you  have  taken  a 
hint  from  the  fact  that  a  great  and  good  man  had  the 
truth  taught  to  him  from  the  tiles  of  the  fire-place." 

"  I  have  taken  the  hint,"  said  the  young  parson, 
"  from  the  fact  that  Phoebe  herself  has  been  interested 
by  the  pictures  in  her  mother's  Bible.  I  watch  such 
little  things,  and  often  think  they  are  indications  of 
Providence." 

"  That  is  a  good  idea,"  said  Miss  Arlington.  "Don't 
you  like  it,  pa?" 

"Very  much,  my  dear,"  said  her  father. 

"  Mr.  Meagre,  please  let  me  see  the  picture,"  said 
Miss  Mary. 

"  These  are  views  of  English  lakes,"  said  Rev.  Petit, 
opening  a  package  of  purple  and  blue-tinted  litho- 
graphs. "  There  is,  as  you  see,  a  little  book  accom- 
panying them,  containing  descriptions  and  explana- 
tions." 

Miss  Arlington  took  the  cards  and  looked  at  them. 
"These  are  exquisite,"  she  said,  "but,  Mr.  Meagre, 
you  do  not  expect  Phoebe  to  remember,  or  even  repeat 
the  names,  do  you  ?  It  would  twist  the  jaw  of  an  old 
Scotch  preacher  of  the  times  of  Cromwell,  to  pronounce 
them.  Here  is  a  picture  of  '  Windermere,  from  the 
neighborhood  of  Clappersgate,'  and  one  of  4  Thirle- 
mere,  from  the  road  to  Keswik,  from  Ambleside,'  and 
the  book  speaking  of  Helm  Crag  says  :  '  the  view 
from  it  embraces  the  whole  vale  of  Grasmere,  Hel- 
vellyn,  Dunmail  Raise,  Wansfell  Pike,  Saddleback, 
Langdale  Pikes,  Windermere,  Esthwaite  Water,  and 


300  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

the  Coniston  range.'  These  names  may  be  classical, 
but  I  declare,  pa,  they  would  be  about  as  intelligible 
to  the  child  as  the  labels  on  your  medicine  bottles,  and 
every  one  knows  they  are  outlandish  enough." 

"  Come,  Miss  Molly,"  said  the  Doctor,  playfully, 
"many  of  those  labels  are  synonymous  with  your 
botanical  terms,  and  if  you  ridicule  the  mysteries  of 
my  profession,  you  expose  your  favorite  science  to 
attack.  Mr.  Meagre,  I  opine,  has  no  idea  of  troubling 
Phoebe  with  those  names.  He  simply  wishes  to  please 
the  child,  or  at  least  address  her  mind  through  her 
senses." 

"  That  is  all  I  expect  to  do  with  those  views,  Miss 
Mary,"  said  the  young  parson,  ''they  present  some 
bold  mountain  scenery,  such  as  Phoebe  has  been  ac- 
customed to  look  upon  from  the  home  she  just  left. 
I  thought  I  would  give  her  only  one  or  two  at  a  time, 
as  more  might  confuse  her  ideas,  but  if  ever  she  is 
able  to  appreciate  your  labors,  you  may  teach  her  the 
hard  names." 

"  I  would  sooner  study  the  pretty  pictures  myself 
and  give  her  my  primers,  as  pa  calls  them.  They 
too  have  pictures  in  them.  But  they  are  near  at 
hand,  and  I  will  submit  them  to  your  inspection," 
said  Miss  Mary,  reaching  for  the  little  books  she  had 
bought,  and  placing  them  in  Mr.  Meagre's  hand. 

"Now,  Mr.  Meagre,  criticise  them  severely,"  said 
the  Doctor,  smiling. 

"  It  is  easy  enough  to  do  that,  sir,"  said  Rev.  Petit. 
"They  are  what  I  expected  to  find  them  — books, 


'LITTLE   PHCEBE,   THE  CRIPPLE.      301 

gotten  up  with  especial  reference  to  the  '  morals  and 
spelling  '  of  young  children.  And  they  may  answer 
the  last  named  purpose  very  well,  but  fail  in  the  first 
more  essentially  than  the  'Views  of  English  Lakes,' 
which  lay  no  claims  to  morality,  except  so  far  as  a 
refined  taste  may  conduce  to  it." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Miss  Molly,  "  that  your  pictures 
are  gotten  up  as  advertisements.  I  see  it  stated  here 
after  a  flaming  description  of  Grasmere,  that  there 
are  two  inns  there,  the  '  Red  Lion,'  and  '  The  Swan.' 
Travellers  are  recommended  to  stay  in  the  vicinity 
several  days  and  see  the  beauties  of  the  place." 

"  You  had  better  run  across  the  water,  and  see  if 
the  publishers  of  the  cards  are  not  the  proprietors  of 
the  inns,"  said  Rev.  Petit.  "  But  here  is  one  of  your 
pictures,  a  sort  of  composite  one  —  two  or  three  in 
one,  and  described  in  these  beautiful  lines : 

"  '  The  ox  is  fat,  he  cannot  run, 
The  dog  is  lying  in  the  sun, 
Tom  loves  to  run  and  skip  and  jump, 
And  follows  Peter  round  the  pump.' 

"  That  is  a  fine  specimen  of  monosyllabic  power, 
but  I  do  not  see  how  a  Sunday  School  scholar  is  to 
learn  any  moral  or  religious  truth  from  it?  The 
second  article  to  which  I  would  invite  the  attention 
of  purchasers  is  a  Hymn  book.  It  has  the  merit  of 
containing  the  little  gem, 

"  '  I  want  to  be  an  Angel.' 

"  And  what  is  the  objection  to  that  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Arlington. 
26 


302  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"  Simply  this,  Miss  Mary,  that  it  expresses  some- 
thing contrary  to  and  beneath  what  God's  Word 
teaches  us  to  expect.  When  Christ  stooped  for  our 
redemption  he  took  not  upon  Him  the  nature  of 
angels,  but  of  man,  and  his  triumphant  resurrection 
and  ascension  did  not  consist  in  being  changed  to  an 
angel,  but  in  raising  our  humanity  up  to  a  state  of 
sinless  perfection.  And  when  our  life  shall  appear 
we  shall  be  like  Sim,  for  we  shall  see  Him  as  He  is. 
The  little  hymn  commences  with  the  pagan  idea  of  a 
transmigration  of  souls,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  and  is  a 
libel  upon  human  desire.  The  hope  we  have  of  our 
departed  friends  is  that  they  themselves  will  be  re- 
stored to  us,  and  not  that  angels  —  another  order  of 
beings  — will  be  substituted  in  their  places.  That 
would  hardly  satisfy  us  in  our  bereavements." 

"  I  see  now  where  the  fault  lies,"  said  Miss  Mary, 
"  and  a  gross  one  it  is." 

"  But  here,  Doctor,"  continued  the  young  parson, 
"is  a  rare  specimen  of  religious  literature.  This 
little  red-covered  book  purports  to  be  a  history  of  a 
noble-hearted  little  girl.  It  has  a  frontispiece:  A 
little  boy  has  broken  a  plate,  and  his  sister  is  repre- 
sented as  saying,  '  There,  brother,  ma  told  you  not 
to  touch  that ;  but  don't  cry,  I'll  tell  her  I  broke  it.' 
In  other  words,  she  will  tell  a  lie  and  screen  the 
guilty  through  false  ideas  of  generosity." 

"That  is  very  careless  teaching,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"Yes  sir,"  said  the  young  parson,  "it  is  a  good 


LITTLE     PHCEBE,    THE    CRIPPLE.       303 

illustration  of  that  carelessness,  which  is  the  dry  rot 
of  the  world." 

"Mr.  Meagre,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "I  begin  to  see 
why  you  want  so  many  books  thrown  out  of  the 
Sunday  School  library.  They  are  really  pernicious." 

"  Yes,  Miss,  many  of  them  are,  and  nearly  all  of 
them  are,  to  say  the  least,  mere  negations.  There  has 
been  such  a  wonderful  attempt  to  accommodate  every- 
body, that  there  is  scarcely  a  bit  of  positive  doctrine 
in  them." 

At  this  point  some  callers  came  in,  and  the  conver- 
sation was  interrupted. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

FURTHER    CRITICISMS  —  PLEASANTRY. 

WHEN  the  company  had  left,  the  young  parson 
opened  a  small  package  of  embossed  cards  representing 
Scripture  scenes  and  incidents,  and  said,  "  Here,  Miss 
Mary,  are  what  I  intended  for  Phoebe  more  especially." 

'•  These  will  do  better  than  the  others,"  said  Miss 
Arlington,  "  although  they  are  not  as  finely  executed 
as  the  views  of  English  lakes," 

"There  is  a  difference  in  that  respect,"  said  Rev. 
Petit,  "  and  I  must  disarm  Miss  Mary's  criticism  by 
acknowledging  that  at  least  one  of  the  pictures  is  not 


304  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

truthful.  Look  at  that  card,  and  see  if  it  does  not 
contain  a  palpable  anachronism.  It  is  a  representation 
of  Hagar  in  the  wilderness.  '  I  had  a  laugh  over  it, 
when  I  first  saw  it." 

Miss  Arlington's  quick  eye  soon  discerned  the  error 
to  which  the  young  parson  referred,  and  she  broke  out 
into  a  ringing  laugh. 

"  What  is  it  that  is  so  funny  ?  "  asked  her  father. 

"  Why  only  look,  pa,  at  the  new  facts  of  patriarchal 
history  here  disclosed.  Before  Ishmael  laid  down  to 
die,  he  took  off  his  modern  broad-brimmed  straw  flat, 
and  put  it  with  his  trundling  hoop.  I  do  not  think 
the  sun  could  have  affected  him  with  such  a  covering 
for  his  head,  but  it  must  have  been  very  fatiguing  to 
roll  that  hoop  over  those  rocks.  And  only  see  Hagar," 
continued  the  gay  girl,  "  she  is  bringing  water  to  her 
perishing  child  in  a  vessel  for  all  the  world  like  our 
new  ice-pitcher.  I  knew  that  Abraham  had  given  her 
a  leather  bottle,  but  was  never  aware  that  he  had  given 
her  any  plate.  Do,  pa,  put  on  your  spectacles  and 
see  if  there  is  an  inscription  on  it.  It  is  a  wonder 
the  poor  bond-woman  has  not  a  cut-glass  tumbler  in 
the  other  hand !" 

"  My  daughter !"  exclaimed  the  Doctor,  reprovingly, 
and  yet  unable  to  keep  his  own  risibility  within  proper 
bounds. 

"  Well,  pa,"  said  the  merry  girl,  "  I  knew  you  would 
check  any  seeming  want  of  reverence,  but  I  am  not 
laughing  at  sacred  things.  I  am  amused  only  at  the 
way  some  men  imagine  them  to  have  been.  Now,  pa, 


FURTHER    CRITICISMS.  305 

you  cannot  but  laugh  yourself,  and  Mr.  Meagre  has 
acknowledged  that  he  had  his  laugh  out  before  he 
came  here.  And  besides,  he  led  me  into  temptation. 
I  do  believe  he  brought  that  picture  here  just  to  upset 
my  gravity.  You  know  you  said  yourself,  the  first 
time  you  saw  him,  that  he  had  mischief  in  his  eye." 

'•  Mr.  Meagre  knows  enough  of  me  to  be  assured 
that  the  remark  you  foolishly  report  was  not  made 
in  the  way  of  disparagement,"  said  the  doctor. 

The  young  parson  bowed  in  acquiescence,  and  pro- 
posed to  burn  the  picture,  lest  it  might  give  Phoebe 
wrong  impressions  of  primitive  simplicity ;  but  to  this 
Miss  Arlington  would  not  consent.  8he  begged  it  for 
herself,  and  it  was  given  to  her.  "  I  want  to  show  it, 
to  sister  Sue,"  she  said,  "  and  then  put  it  among  my 
curiosities.  It  is  so  ridiculous,  and  reminds  me  of  the 
preacher  who  was  telling  his  people  of  the  war  Abrarn 
waged  against  the  kings,  and  described  the  booming 
of  the  cannon  and  the  rattling  of  the  musket  shots, 
so  graphically." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Meagre,  the  incorrigible  little  tease  is 
disposed  to  pick  at  your  profession,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  And  if  I  am,  pa,  the  cloth  will  find  a  faithful  ad- 
vocate in  you.  I  have  long  since  concluded  that  you 
and  Mr.  Meagre  have  formed  a  mutual  admiration 
society  over  there  in  the  office,  for  you  sit  till  mid- 
night talking  about  Homer,  Virgil  and  other  heathen 
favorites." 

"The  preacher  Miss  Mary  speaks  of,  Doctor," 
said  Rev.  Petit,  "  was  not  betrayed  into  a  much  greater 
26* 


806  THE    YOUNG     PARSON 

mistake  than  some  of  those  we  hear  ladies  make 
occasionally.  The  other  night  Dr.  Kay  and  I  were 
invited  to  a  party.  The  lady  of  the  house  entered 
the  parlor  dressed  in  blue.  She  wore  a  blue  dress, 
blue  head-gear,  blue  gloves,  and  blue  slippers.  Ap- 
proaching the  Doctor  in  a  most  bewitching  manner, 
and  holding  up  her  fingers  to  represent  streaks  of 
light,  she  said :  •  Dr.  Kay,  I  appear  this  evening  in 
the  character  of  Aurora.  Do  honestly  tell  me  how  I 
become  it?' ' 

"Now,  pa,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "if  you  are  not  im- 
partial, you  will  say  that  Mr.  Meagre  is  disposed  to 
pick  at  the  women.  But  pray  Mr.  Meagre,  what  did 
the  Doctor  say?" 

"  He  said,"  replied  Rev.  Petit,  "that  it  was  a  bold 
and  original  thought  for  Aurora  to  appear  at  night, 
but  that  the  poets  had  created  so  universal  an  im- 
pression that  she  was  'rosy  fingered,'  that  the  blue 
gloves  might  be  regarded  as  too  daring  an  innovation 
on  established  notions." 

"No  doubt  Dr.  Kay's  refined  manner  took  all  the 
rough  edge  from  the  criticism,  which  the  lady  had  in- 
vited by  insisting  on  an  honest  opinion,  but  do  tell 
me  what  the  poor  girl  said  ? " 

"  The  Doctor's  scalpel  was  wreathed  to  the  hilt 
with  flowers,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Mary.  The  lady 
said  nothing.  She  went  out,  however,  and  pulled  off 
the  gloves,  and  after  that  looked  a  little  more  like  the 
goddess  about  the  tips  of  her  digits,"  said  the  young 
parson. 


FURTHER    CRITICISMS.  307 

"  I  think,"  said  Miss  Molly,  "  that  she  should  have 
resolved  herself  into  a  little  piece  of  blue  sky  before 
Aurora  appeared." 

"I  think,"  said  the  Doctor,  "that  you  girls  ought 
to  read  our  heathen  favorites  before  you  attempt  such 
impersonations.  I  can  call  to  mind  just  now  two 
passages  in  which  her  rosy-fingered  ladyship  is  spoken 
of.  The  one  occurs  in  Ovid,  the  other  in  the  Iliad 
of  Homer,"  and  here  the  old  physician  quoted  the 
Greek. 

"  I  have  a  general  recollection  of  the  passages  to 
which  you  refer,  but  I  could  not  have  quoted  the 
^original  text  as  you  have  done,"  said  Rev.  Petit. 
"  But  that  may  be  accounted  for,  on  the  ground  that 
I  am  separated  by  more  years  from  the  time  that 
those  things  are  generally  studied  than  you  are, 
Doctor.  I  have,  however,  a  particular  remembrance 
of  the  fact,  that  my  ears  were  boxed  over  something 
of  the  kind,  when  reading  the  Odyssey." 

"  Well,  all  I  know  about  her,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "is 
that  she  is  spoken  of  in  the  classical  dictionary  as  a 
goddess,  drawn  in  a  rose-colored  chariot,  and  opening, 
with  her  rosy  fingers,  the  gates  of  the  east,  pouring 
dew  upon  the  earth,  and  making  the  flowers  grow. 
And  I  will  be  careful  not  to  try  to  represent  her  in 
blue  gloves,  if  Dr.  Kay  is  about.  But,  pa,  if  you  and 
Mr.  Meagre  are  going  to  talk  about  Homer,  I  may  as 
well  withdraw,  for  I  will  not  be  able  to  get  a  word  in 
edge-wise.  The  day  that  Mr.  Meagre  overtook  us  on 
horseback,  I  happened  to  say  something  about  a 


308  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

hippodrome,  and  that  started  you.  You  had  some 
heroic  verses  to  quote,  and  scanned  them  in  such  a 
way  that  the  sounds  were  like  the  clatter  of  the  horses' 
hoofs,  although  I  did  not  know  the  meaning  of  a  word 
you  uttered.  And  heroic  verse  was  the  theme  all  the 
way  home.  How  did  you  know,  pa,  but  what  Mr. 
Meagre  wanted  to  say  something  particular  to  me 
along  that  romantic  road  ?  " 

"  Something  very  significant,  I  suppose,  my  daugh- 
ter. You  looked  so  charming  that  day  with  your 
white  plume." 

"  I  looked  as  well  as  Mr.  Meagre  did  the  day  he 
rode  the  colt,  pa." 

"And  pray  where  was  Miss  Arlington,  that  she  saw 
me  on  that  celebrated  equestrian  tour?"  asked  the 
young  parson. 

"Behind  the  Venitian  blinds,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"And  not  laughing  the  less  heartily  because  Mr. 
Meagre  could  not  help  laughing  at  himself,"  said  Miss 
Mary. 

"  I  was  fully  aware  of  the  figure  I  cut  that  day, 
especially  on  my  way  back,  and  did  not  blame  any 
one  for  making  merry  over  it,"  said  the  young  par- 
son. "  Did  I  remind  you  of  a  Centaur  ?  " 

"You  were  as  little  like  a  Centaur  that  day,  as 
Dr.  Kay's  friend  was  like  Aurora,  but  I  am  afraid  of 
starting  pa  again,  and  then,  as  I  before  intimated,  you 
might  as  well  bow  me  out  of  the  room." 

"  I  did  not  pretend  to  be  a  Centaur  that  day,  or 
any  part  of  one,  or  perhaps  I  would  have  clung  more 


FURTHER    CRITICISMS.  309 

tightly  to  the  other  half  of  myself.  But  you  need  not 
fear  that  any  more  classic  lore  will  be  inflicted  upon 
you  to-night,  as  the  little  monitor  on  your  mantel  ad- 
monishes me  that  I  ought  to  bow  myself  out,"  said 
the  young  parson,  rising  to  go.  "  By  the  way  Miss 
Mary,  if  you  can  do  anything  for  Phoebe,  I  will  re- 
gard it  as  a  favor." 

"  I  will  be  glad  to  do  all  I  can  for  her,  but  I  dis- 
trust my  judgment  in  dealing  with  one  whose  being  is 
so  delicately  strung.  I  never  realized  before  how 
complex  man's  nature  is.  What  a  wonderful  sympathy 
there  is  between  mind  and  body  !  What  a  dependency 
of  parts !  I  have  to  ask  pa  every  day  what  Phoebe* 
may  eat  for  her  dinner,  and  I  suppose  I  will  have  to 
ask  you  how  I  am  to  instruct  her." 

"Neither  of  us  may  have  as  much  difficulty  as  we 
imagine,  if  we  only  ask  for  the  Divine  guidance  and 
blessing,"  said  Mr.  Meagre. 

"  I  feel  the  need  of  that  very  much,"  said  Miss 
Arlington,  as  the  young  parson  bade  her  and  her 
father  good  night. 


310  THE    YOUNG    PAESON. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

PH(EBE    AT    CHURCH  — TRIPLE    ALLIANCE. 

SUNDAY  morning  came,  and  a  beautiful  September 
morning  it  was  —  clear,  warm,  and  dry — just  such  a 
day  as  Dr.  Arlington  hoped  it  would  be,  that  Phoebe 
might  go  to  church.  David  Early  drove  up  to  Mr. 
Middleton's  door,  with  his  family  in  the  "  Diligence," 
just  as  the  first  bell  was  ringing. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Meagre  and  Mr.  Middleton," 
he  said,  "  thought  I'd  drive  round  to  mother-in-law's 
and  leave  Hannah  and  the  children  out,  and  then  take 
Phoebe  to  church  in  the  '  Concern.'  " 

''I'll  go  with  you  and  help  to  lift  her,"  said  the 
yo-ing  parson. 

Mr.  Middleton  offered  to  send  his  man,  Sam,  but 
Mr.  Meagre  remembered  that  he  had  promised  the 
little  girl  that  he  would  do  it  himself,  and  thought  it 
important  to  be  as  good  as  his  word.  He  accordingly 
went,  and  found  Phcebe  dressed  in  a  clean  calico  frock, 
and  long  white  apron,  waiting. 

"  Good  morning,  Phcebe,"  he  said,  "you  are  to  go 
to  church  now." 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  the  little  cripple.  "  My  mother 
said  last  night  it  'pended  on  if  God  would  smile  on 
my  goin'.  And  when  I  got  awake  and  seed  the  sun 


PH(E  BE     AT    CHURCH.  311 

a  shinin'  through  the  trees,  then  I  know'd  that  God 
was  a  smilin'  then ;  and  then  I  called  my  mother  to 
put  on  my  new  warm  socks  she  made  out  of  list,  and 
get  me  ready." 

"  I  hope  that  God  will  smile  upon  you  always,"  said 
the  young  parson,  as  he  helped  to  lift  the  child  into 
the  carriage. 

David  drove  around  to  the  church,  and  Phoebe  was 
carried,  or  rather  hauled,  in  her  chair  to  the  little  front 
aisle  that  separates  the  left  row  of  side  pews  from 
those  that  face  the  chancel.  Here  she  was  measurably 
screened  from  observation,  and  yet  could  see  nearly 
all  over  the  house. 

The  church  was  not  a  very  modern  one.  It  was 
built  at  a  time  when  a  prominent  place  was  given  to 
the  altar,  and  the  large  square  one  placed  here,  and 
covered  with  a  black  cloth  with  tassels,  had  not,  thanks 
to  a  succession  of  churchly  ministers,  been  superseded 
by  a  mahogony  pier-table.  The  pulpit  was  semi-cir- 
cular in  shape,  and  trimmed  with  dark  velvet.  There 
were  galleries  on  three  sides  of  the  house,  and  the 
stoves,  with  such  an  extension  of  pipe  as  to  require 
wire  supports,  were  always  left  standing  in  the  midst 
of  the  straight-backed  pews.  All  this  seemed  very 
grand  to  Phoebe.  The  size  of  the  house  was  itself  a 
wonder,  and  everything  in  it  was  new.  Mrs.  Ross, 
Mrs.  Early  and  her  children,  soon  came  in  and  seated 
themselves  near  their  afflicted  relative,  and  Rev.  Petit 
withdrew,  leaving  her  to  make  her  first  simple  remarks 
to  them.  Soon  the  people  began  to  assemble  and 


312  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

silently  take  their  places  in  the  pews,  and  when  the 
last  bell  was  done  ringing  the  house  was  nearly  full. 
Then  the  service  commenced  at  the  altar.  Mr.  Steele, 
who  usually  "raised  the  tune,"  was  not  there  that 
morning,  and  Miss  Mary  Arlington  led  the  singing, 
in  which  the  whole  congregation  joined.  After  the 
service  at  the  altar,  Mr.  Meagre  preached  a  sermon 
on  the  text,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest."  Then  there 
was  another  prayer,  a  hymn  with  a  doxology,  and  the 
benediction,  after  which  the  congregation  quietly  dis- 
persed. In  all  of  this,  the  poor  child  seemed  to  be 
greatly  interested. 

Perhaps  comparatively  few  of  the  congregation 
knew  that  Phoebe  was  in  the  church,  for,  as  said  be- 
fore, she  was  almost  hidden  from  view.  And  those 
that  did  know  she  was  there  had  common  sense  enough 
not  to  show  any  morbid  curiosity  to  see  her.  To  this, 
however,  there  was  one  exception.  As  soon  as  the 
service  was  over,  Mrs.  Pugnose  crowded  to  the  front 
of  the  house  with  all  the  indecent  haste  exhibited  by 
rude  people  when  they  want  to  see  a  corpse.  She 
carried  aloft  her  year-old  child,  dressed  in  a  canary- 
colored  calico  slip,  and  a  red  calico  sun-bonnet  trimmed 
with  black  ribbon,  and  after  gazing  at  the  little  cripple 
with  the  most  ineffable  disdain,  shook  her  child  and 
pointed  to  the  deformed  girl,  as  if  she  was  anxious  to 
make  it  take  notice  of  her.  Phoebe  did  not  know 
enough  of  the  world  to  feel  this  much,  but  Mrs.  Ross 
and  Hannah  were  wounded  by  it. 


PH02BE    AT    CHURCH.  313 

Asa  compensation  for  this,  Dr.  Arlington  and  his 
daughter,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Middleton,  and  several  other 
persons  of  refinement,  spoke  kindly  to  the  family 
group,  and  expressed  their  joy  at  seeing  Phoebe  at 
church.  They  did  this  in  the  most  delicate  manner, 
taking  care  not  to  crowd  around  the  child  and  embar- 
rass her  friends  by  giving  an  unpleasant  notoriety  to 
her  presence. 

Mrs.  Pugnose  soon  withdrew,  and  hastened  to  join 
Tom  Jefferson  and  Mrs.  Spotters,  who  had  preceded 
her  out  of  the  church,  and  to  whom  she  reported  that 
"  Meagre  had  another  one  of  them  thar  prodigies. 
He  is  alers  vilatin'  the  Scriptur's,"  she  said,  "  by  goin' 
to  the  highways  and  hedges,  an'  compelin'  'em  to  come 
in  like  the  Jews  in  the  time  of  Genesis.  Seems  like 
the  lower  people  is,  the  more  he  takes  notis  of  'em ;  an' 
Arlin'tons,  an'  Middletons,  an'  all  them,  jist  encourages 
him  in  it.  Them  people  alers  speak  kind,  an'  if  a 
body's  sick  they'll  do  a  good  deal  for  'em;  but  they 
never  thinks  of  callin',  sociable  like,  to  spend  the  day, 
and  talk  'bout  what 'people  ses  and  is  a  doin'  in  town. 
There's  Doctor  Arlin'ton's  darter,  they  say,  takes  that 
little  decripit  thing  her  dinner  ev'ry  day,  an'  she's 
never  fotch  me  nary  thing  since  she  fotch  me  the  briled 
pidgin  an'  wine  whey,  when  I  was  so  sick;  an'  yit  we's 
got  a  farm,  an'  got  mora  right  to  be  notic'd  than  poor 
cripples." 

"Yes,"  said  Tom  Jeffm-son,  "it's  curus  to  see  ho* 
som  people  acts.     I'se  never  been  dewited  to  enny  of 
them  folks'es  parties  anjd  dinners.     An'  yit  it  stands 
27 


314  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

to  reason  from  my  wery  name,  that  my  illustrus  pro- 
geny diskivered  this  country  an'  writ  the  constitoo- 
shun  of  Ameriky.  Everybody  as  reads  his  g'ography 
knows  vat  the  name  of  Thomas  Jefferson  did.  An' 
the  werry  idee  our  family  had  in  wiew,  vus  to  make 
us  all  ekals.  But  la  !  body'd  think  ve  all  fit  an'  bled 
an'  died  fur  nothin',  if  ve  look  at  these  degenerated 
times !" 

"  Often  notis'd  them  things  you  two  is  a  speakin' 
about,"  said  Mrs.  Spotters,  "but  la  me,  Miss  Pugnose, 
I  didn't  know  Hanner  Arly 's  dwarf  sister  was  in  meetin', 
or  I'd  a  waited  to  a  seed  her.  One  thing  I  did  notis, 
though:  old  Mink  Mongrel  and  Madge  wus  thar, 
setting  jist  like  two  penitences.  Believe  me  or  not, 
they  wus  on  the  very  hindmostest  seat  agin  the  wall, 
like's  if  they  felt  they  wussent  worthy  to  be  there  'mong 
'spectable  people,  an'  Meagre  took  pertic'ler  pains  to 
go  round  an'  speak  to  'em.  Said  he  wus  glad  to  see 
'em,  and  hoped  they'd  come  reg'lar." 

"  0  thar's  no  use  talkin',  ladis,"  said  Mr.  Jefferson. 
"  Ev'ry  body  knows  Meagre  is  vonderful  give  over  to 
them  things.  His  whole  sarmont  this  mornin'  show'd 
it.  Seem'd  as  if  he  couldn't  be  arnest  an'  plain  enuf 
in  tellin'  people  vat  God's  grace  meant,  and  who't  vus 
'tended  fur.  And  who  vus  it  'tended  fur,  ladis  ?  Jist 
them  werry  vuns  as  felt  as  they  had  burdens  on  'em 
as  they  couldn't  carry  themselves." 

"Well,  goodness  knows,"  said  Mrs.  Spotters,  "J 
can  get  along  myself,  and  don't  owe  no  thanks  to  no- 
body ;  but  Meagre  didn't  crowd  through  to  make  a 


PH(EBE    AT    CHURCH.  815 

fuss  over  me,  an'  there  wussent  a  more  respectableer 
drest  person  there.  But  it  seems  'taint  no  use  to  git 
a  white  satin  bonnet  with  a  plume  in  it,  for  nothing 
ain't  'predated  in  this  place.  There's  Mary  Arlin'ton, 
rich  as  she  is,  never  had  a  plume,  'cept  in  that  ridin' 
hat,  an'  I  b'lieve  she  got  that  to  please  her  father. 
She's  alers  with  him  so  much,  an'  she  hasn't  wore 
nothin'  but  a  plain  straw  with  a  little  white  ribbon  on 
it,  all  summer.  I  axed  her  'bout  it  one  day,  right  to 
her  face,  when  I  got  mine.  Ses  I,  *  why  don't  you 
get  a  white  satin  bonnet  with  a  feather  —  they're  so 
fashionable.'  '  0,'  ses  she,  'my  tastes  is  very  simple, 
an'  it  will  be  more  gratifyin'  to  spend  that  money  in 
some  other  way.'  But  if  she'd  save  some  that  she 
spends  on  cripples,  she  could  git  a  plume  too.  It's 
all  the  way  people  manages,  as  I  tell  Spotters.  'Speck 
if  the  truth's  know'd,  Mary  Arlin'ton  don't  think  my 
bonnet's  in  season.  But  I  don't  care.  One  thing's 
certain  —  I  ain't  goin'  to  take  notis  of  ev'ry  body." 

Mr.  Jefferson  and  Mrs.  Pugnose  said  that  they,  too, 
had  come  to  some  such  conclusion,  and  after  this  remark- 
able coincidence  of  great  minds,  the  trio  separated. 


3l5  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

ANOTHER    CONVERSATION. 

WHILE  these  three  representatives  of  Christian 
charity  and  intelligence  were  uttering  their  criticisms, 
and  unconsciously  paying  the  highest  compliment  to 
the  young  parson's  official  work,  that  functionary  of 
the  church  had  helped  David  to  take  the  little  invalid 
home.  And  then  another  conversation  took  place. 
This  was  one  in  which  Rev.  Petit  was  engaged,  not 
with  Phoebe,  indeed,  for  it  was  thought  that  she  had 
been  subjected  to  as  much  excitement  as  her  delicate 
nerves  could  bear  in  one  day  —  but  with  the  worthy 
Deacon. 

When  Rev.  Petit  left  the  house,  David  followed  him 
out  of  the  door,  and  said,  "  Hold  on,  Mr.  Meagre, 
I'll  just  take  you  round  to  Mr.  Middleton's  in  the 
*  Concern.'  " 

"No,  I  thank  you,  Brother  Early,"  said  the  young 
parson ;  "  I  would  sooner  walk,  but  perhaps  the  old 
'  Diligence  '  has  done  the  best  work  to-day  it  ever  did." 

"Mebbe,"  said  David,  "but  that  is  sayin'  a  good 
deal.  It  has  run  around  right  sharp  in  times  past, 
bringin'  the  old  and  sickly  to  church  when  it  rained 
o;i  communion  days.  Often  thought  it  one  of  the  best 


ANOTHER    CONVERSATION.  317 

jobs  it  ever  did,  was  takin'  old  Mr.  Mongrel  home  the 
day  he  come  so  nigh  gettin'  on  a  spree." 

"  I  suppose  the  old  thing  will  be  missed  greatly  in 
town,"  said  Rev.  Petit. 

"  0,  no,"  replied  David.  "  Them  nice  black  wheels 
of  Mr.  Middleton's  new  '  Concern '  won't  be  spared  if  it's 
muddy  when  old  Mrs.  White  or  any  of  them  wants  to 
come  to  meetin'.  But  say,  Mr.  Meagre  :  don't  what 
Mr.  Middleton  does  in  that  way  come  under  the  head 
of  honoring  the  Lord  with  your  substance  ?  " 

u  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Meagre.  "It  is  using  what 
a  man  has  in  God's  service,  and  with  a  view  to  his 
glory." 

"  Thought  so,"  said  David. 

"I  think,  Brother  David,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  "that 
you  begin  to  see  how  a  Sunday  School  book  might  be 
written  about  the  old  *  Diligence,'  or  the  *  Concern,' 
as  you  are  pleased  to  call  it.  If  I  were  to  undertake 
the  work,  I  woulgl  follow  the  line  of  thought  you  have 
just  indicated.  We  are  too  apt  to  abstract  our  reli- 
gious life  from  the  constitution  of  the  world  in  which 
we  live,  and  we  fail  to  see  how  the  way  we  use  any- 
thing we  have  may  tell  in  the  eternal  world.  The 
rod  of  Moses  was  a  mere  staff  in  a  man's  hand,  but 
used  as  God  directed,  it  became  a  mighty  instrumen- 
tality. And  so  it  may  be  with  anything,  although 
what  we  call  the  miracle  may  be  neither  apparent  nor 
necessary." 

uFact,"  said  David.  "  When  a  body  thinks  right, 
we  are  all  saved  in  the  same  way,  that  is,  through  the 
27* 


318  THE     YOUNG 

blessed  Saviour.  Even  the  prophets  have  salvation 
through  Messias,  and  we,  too,  are  saved  in  Him.  The 
Holy  Spirit  works  the  Redeemer's  life  in  all,  and  the 
only  difference  is  in  circumstances  and  instruments. 
Them's  only  outward,  and  may  vary.  And  if  a  man's 
brought  to  church  in  the  old  'Concern/  and  learns  to 
know  God  aright  and  gets  to  heaven,  I  'spose  in  t'other 
world,  it  wouldn't  make  much  difference  to  him  if  it 
was  that,  or  a  chariot  of  fire.  One  might  a  been  God's 
instrument  as  well  as  t'other,  and  his  ends  of  glory'd 
a  been  brought  about  the  same." 

The  young  parson  smiled  at  David's  earnestness, 
and  nodded  assent  to  his  arguments.  "  Yes,  brother 
Early,"  he  said,  "and  this  we  know,  that  the  judg- 
ment is  to  refer  to  this  life,  for  we  are  to  be  judged 
according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the  body,  and  that 
will  doubtless  involve  our  relations  to  one  another, 
and  to  all  our  surroundings,  so  that  not  only  persons 
but  things  will  be  brought  into  view  in  determining 
our  rewards  and  punishments.  It  is  in  this  way  that 
a  man's  wealth,  in  whatever  form  it  may  be,  will  be 
brought  up  as  a  talent,  and  so  it  becomes  ua  to  lay 
all  that  we  are  and  have  upon  the  altar  of  the  Most 
High.  A  man  may  eat  and  drink,  and  sov,  and  reap, 
to  the  glory  of  God." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that,  'specially  since  you  preached 
that  sermont  about  Holiness  to  the  Lori  bein'  on  the 
bells  of  the  horses,"  said  David.  "And  one  thing'a 
certain ;  the  old  *  Concern  '  shan't  f  1/1  off  in  doin'  good 
'cause  1  got  it.  Will  try  and  see  li  there  aim  some 


ANOTHER    CONVERSATION.  819 

old  and  weakly  person  that  I  can  still  bring  along  to 
meetin',  and  I  think  I'll  come  arly,  'specially  in  bad 
weather,  to  help  haul  up  some  of  the  folks  that 
couldn't  come  otherwise.  You  know  you  said  any- 
how, when  we  was  ordained  to  office,  that  the  deacons 
must  not  only  take  up  the  pennies,  but  see  after  the 
poor." 

"That  is  all  well,  David,"  said  Kev.  Petit,  "and 
if  you  ask  God  in  faith,  He  will  bless  all  your  work." 

"  That,"  said  David,  "puts  me  in  mind  of  another 
thing  —  how  unbelieving  men  is.  Was  thinkin'  about 
it  to-day.  Here  God  tells  us  the  way  of  salvation  is 
opened  complete,  and  everybody's  invited  to  come. 
He  says  He  would  not  that  any  should  perish,  but 
that  all  should  turn  to  Him  and  live.  He  especially 
invites  them  that's  needy,  and  says  He  won't  cast 
anybody  out.  And  yet  we  bring  little  sister-in-law  to 
church  like  as  if  it  was  an  experiment.  It's  just  like 
as  if  we  was  anxious  to  have  the  child  blessed  and 
saved,  but  thought  it  depended  on  whether  the  Great 
Father  was  in  the  humor  or  not.  Now,  Mr.'  Meagre, 
that  aint  just  to  the  Heavenly  Parent's  character,  and 
it  don't  show  faith  in  Him.  He  aint  slack  concern- 
ing His  promise,  and  we  ought  to  come  to  Him  look- 
ing for  a  blessing  as  a  certainty.  I  think  when  we 
ain't  answered,  it  is  'cause  we  don't  expect  anything^ 
or  in  other  words,  'cause  we  don't  believe." 

"  You  are  unquestionably  right  in  what  you  say, 
Brother  Early,"  suid  Mr.  Meagre.  '•  When  the  blind 
men  called  to  our  Divine  Redeemer  for  mercy,  He 


320  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

said  to  them,  'According  to  your  faith  be  it  unto 
you ! '  He  invites  us  to  draw  at  pleasure  upon  His 
fulness,  and  says  the  degree  of  our  faith  is  to  deter- 
mine the  measure  of  the  blessing  we  receive.  We 
often  think  we  would  like  to  have  more  grace,  but  we 
can  just  get  as  much  as  we  want.  And  David,  while 
God  stoops  to  hear  the  sigh  of  the  humblest  penitent, 
and  tells  us  that  faith,  as  a  grain  of  mustard  seed,  will 
remove  mountains,  he  yet  loves  heroic  souls.  Those 
who  come  to  him  with  importunate  prayer  and  strong 
faith  are  always  commended  in  the  Bible." 

"  Like  old  Jacob,  who  wouldn't  let  him  go  till  He 
blessed  him,"  said  David. 

"  That  is  an  instance,  David,"  said  the  young  par- 
son. "  God  said  to  Jacob,  '  Thy  name  shall -be  called 
no  more  Jacob,  but  Israel :  for  as  a  prince  hast  thou 
power  with  God  and  with  men,  and  hast  prevailed." 

"And  it  don't  seem  to  make  much  difference 
whether  a  body  prays  for  themselves  or  somebody 
else,"  said  the  good  deacon. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Meagre.  "The  Syrophenician 
woman  that  persevered  in  the  midst  of  so  many  seem- 
ing discouragements,  and  wrung  a  'yea,'  from  the 
Saviour's  apparent  'nay,'  came  in  behalf  of  her  tor- 
mented and  absent  child." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  David,  "  them  things 
ought  to  teach  us  encouragement.  This  talk  is  as 
good  as  a  sermon  t ;  and  all  I  got  to  say  is,  me  and 
Hannah  and  mother-in-law  will  all  be  Aarons  and 


PHCEBE    LEARNING. 


Hurs  to  hold  up  your  hands  in  the  good  work  you've 
undertook,  for  we  all  do  love  Phoebe,  and  want  her  to 
be  happy  in  the  love  of  God." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

PH(EBE    LEARNING. 

AFTER  this,  Phoebe  got  to  church  very  frequently. 
There  were,  during  the  winter  that  followed,  a  remark- 
able number  of  pleasant  Sundays  —  scarcely  an  in- 
clement one  until  Christmas,  and  after  that,  clear, 
bright  weather  two-thirds  of  the  time.  This  was,  of 
course,  favorable  to  the  little  girl's  attendance  upon 
the  public  worship  of  the  sanctuary,  and  soon  her 
presence  there  ceased  to  be  a  subject  of  remark. 
Like  many  a  poor  deformed  one,  she  was  looked  upon 
as  a  member  of  the  community  seen  too  often  to  be 
an  object  of  interest  to  many,  or  of  especial  curiosity 
to  any.  David  was  always  at  hand  to  take  his  little 
"  sister-in-law  "  to  and  from  the  house  of  God,  and 
seemed  to  be  greatly  rejoiced  that  she  was  able  "  to 
tend  so  often  without  any  great  inconvenience  or  suf- 
fering to  herself."  The  good  old  doctor,  too,  was 
agreeably  surprised  to  find  that  all  this  appeared  to 
be  a  benefit,  rather  than  an  injury,  to  his  little  patient's 
delicate  frame ;  and  he  was  not  afraid  to  say  that  tho 


322  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

blessing  of  God  had  much  to  do  with  it,  lest  he  might 
be  thought  superstitious,  or  be  regarded  as  acknow- 
ledging a  higher  and  more  efficient  power  than  could 
be  found  in  man's  medical  skill. 

And  the  young  parson  found  cause  for  joy  in  the 
fact  that  God  was  working  his  purposes  of  salvation 
in  the  heart  of  his  little  parishioner.  Indeed,  his 
own  expectations  were  so  far  exceeded,  as  to  make 
him  ashamed  of  his  first  unbelief. 

Nor  was  he  long  in  finding  out  that  he  had  under- 
rated Mrs.  Ross.  Though  illiterate,  she  was  an  intelli- 
gent Christian  woman  who  had  long  studied  her  Bible 
in  the  light  of  God's  Spirit,  and  reduced  to  practice 
what  she  read.  Standing  herself  in  living  communion 
with  the  church,  she  had  not  been  content,  as  he  at 
first  supposed,  to  tell  her  child  of  a  Personal  Deity 
—  the  Author  of  all  the  sublime  things  in  nature  — 
but  had  spoken  of  Him  as  revealed  in  Christ  for  the 
redemption  of  the  world.  She  had  brought  Phoebe 
to  Him  in  faith,  according  to  his  own  appointment, 
and  told  her  of  what  she  might  expect  from  Him  who 
had  included  children  with  their  parents  in  the  pro- 
visions and  promises  of  His  grace  in  Christ  Jesus,  our 
Lord.  These  duties  rightly  performed,  of  course  the 
Divine  fidelity  was  illustrated.  The  Holy  Spirit  had 
crowned  the  consecration  and  all  the  work  of  nurture, 
so  that  the  first  buddings  of  the  "  plant  of  grace  "  had 
been  secured  ;  and  her  pastor  had  only  to  develope  it, 
by  appropriate  cultivation,  to  a  "tree  of  righteousness 


PHOSBE    LEARNING.  323 

filled  with  the  fruits  of  righteousness,  which  are,  by 
Jesus  Christ,  to  the  glory  and  praise  of  God." 

And  the  young  parson  had  far  less  trouble  in  teach- 
ing Phoebe  than  he  expected  to  have.  It  was  a  great 
matter  that  she  had  to  wwlearn  so  little,  and  her  ex- 
treme docility  made  it  a  comparatively  easy  matter  to 
instil  positive  truth  into  her  mind.  As  her  body  be- 
came stronger,  her  intellectual  powers  improved,  and 
appeared  at  times  to  be  very  bright.  Her  language 
was  idiomatic,  and  the  little  preacher  was  not  only 
astonished  at  her  theology,  but  delighted  with  the 
spirit  of  that  poetry  which  breathed  through  her  ex- 
pressions. For  although  she  never  learned  to  quote 
Scripture  accurately,  except  by  hearing  familiar  pas- 
sages repeated  frequently,  she  had  a  wonderful  way 
of  paraphrasing  it,  that  convinced  every  one  that  she 
understood  much  that  was  read  to  her.  Indeed,  she 
reproduced  everything  in  a  way  that  made  it  appear 
original,  and  suggested  the  idea  that  she  knew  the 
truth  by  a  sort  of  heavenly  intuition. 

About  three  months  after  this  interesting  family 
had  move*d  into  the  village,  Rev.  Petit  was  astonished 
to  find,  in  a  conversation  with  Phoebe,  that  notwith- 
standing the  novelty  of  attending  church,  she  had 
carried  away  a  clear  conception  of  the  first  sermon 
she  had  ever  heard.  She  had  as  good  an  idea  of  what 
was  said  that  day,  as  Mr.  Jefferson  himself. 

"  I  know  what  you  preached,  Mr.  Meagre,"  she 
said.  "  God  said  in  his  book,  in  His  holy  Bible,  that 
you  should  tell  all  the  people  that  if  enny  of  'em  was 


324  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

tired  or  had  troubles  or  sufferin',  the  blessed  Jesus  'd 
bear  the  load  for  'em.  Troubles  and  sufferin's — them 
comes  from  sin  —  and  the  blessed  Jesus  takes  all  our 
sins  away  and  gives  us  all  rest.  There's  where  I 
'spects  rest." 

Shortly  after  this,  the  youthful  pastor  found  that 
his  little  parishioner  could  already  recite  the  Lord's 
prayer,  although  it  was  hard  for  her  always  to  pre- 
serve the  order  of  the  petitions.  She  had  repeated 
it  after  her  mother  until  it  had,  as  it  were,  dropped 
into  her  mind  without  any  special  mental  effort.  When 
she  told  Mr.  Meagre  that  she  "most  know'd  it,"  this 
question  arose  in  his  mind :  Can  that  prayer  of  prayers 
be  a  mere  form  of  words  to  the  child  ?  He  resolved 
to  find  out  if  possible,  and  yet  he  hardly  knew  how 
to  attempt  it.  At  length  he  said,  "  'Our  Father  who 
art  in  heaven,'  what  does  that  mean,  Phosbe?" 

Phoebe  gave  her  reverend  questioner  a  look  in  which 
he  thought  he  read  some  confusion.  He  soon  found 
out,  however,  that  the  look  was  expressive  of  surprise 
that  such  a  question  should  be  asked.  It  perhaps 
raised  the  first  doubt  she  had  on  the  subj^t,  but  she 
said,  "  'Spect  it  means  that." 

"  Means  what  ?  "  asked  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Why  means  what  it  says — that  God  is  Our  Father 
who  art  in  heaven.  'Spect  it's  like  if  a  body's  father 
on  earth  had  no  faults,  and  was  high  up  as  God,  and 
could  love  as  much,  and  do  everything  like  God," 
replied  Phoebe. 

"  That  is  right,  my  dear,"  said  Rev.  Petit,  inwardly 


PHCEBE    LEARNING.  325 

acknowledging  that  the  teacher  had  heen  taught ;  for 
that  natural  illustration  of  God's  relation  to  us,  had 
never  occurred  to  him. 

"  God's  our  Father,  'cause  the  Saviour  become'd  our 
oldest  brother.  I  prays  to  our  Father,  Mr.  Meagre," 
said  the  little  girl.  "  I  prays  to  him  to  forgive  and 
bless  me  for  Christ's  sake,  and  for  the  Holy  Ghost  to 
work  what  I  ask,  in  me.  Them  Three's  One,  Mr.  Mea- 
gre. Three's  One  and  One's  three.  We  believes  that 
in  church  before  you  preaches,  pertick'ler  the  last 
time." 

"The  Lord's  name  be  praised!"  exclaimed  the 
young  parson. 

Why  should  he  not  exclaim,  when  Christ  Himself 
had  said,  "  I  thank  thee,  0  Father,  that  thou  hast  hid 
these  things  from"  the  wise  and  prudent,  and  revealed 
them  unto  babes?"  Here  this  child  had  a  right  con- 
ception of  the  Holy  Trinity.  Her  faith  was  leaning 
on  the  simple  assertion  of  it.  Not  for  the  world, 
would  Mr.  Meagre  have  gone  behind  that  and  tried 
to  explain  anything  about  it.  He  had  come  very  near 
attempting  something  of  the  kind  the  Sunday  before, 
lie  had  even  written  a  sermon  about  the  eternal  gen- 
eration and  eternal  procession,  but  something  told 
him  to  put  it  aside  and  use  the  Athanasian  creed  that 
morning  instead  of  the  Apostles,  for  although  he  loved 
the  last  of  these  symbols  best,  and  generally  used  it, 
the  former  was  more  intensive,  and  might  be  employed 
with  advantage  at  times !  He  now  understood  the 
voice,  and  was  glad  that  he  had  obeyed  it. 
28 


326  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"  Mr.  Meagre,  I  prays, '  Thy  kingdom  come,'  "  said 
Phoebe,  all  unconscious  that  her  previous  remark  had 
given  rise  to  a  thought  in  her  pastor's  mind.  "  That 
means  for  Him  to  rule  in  my  heart,  and  in  my  mother's 
heart,  and  in  my  poor  papa's  heart,  and  in  everybody's 
heart.  I  prays  that.  Leastways  I  sits  in  my  chair 
and  wishes  it  to  God,  and  feels  sure  in  my  heart,  by 
the  Spirit,  that  it  will  be  so.  And  '  Thy  will  be  done ' 
—  that's  in  the  prayer  too." 

"  What  does  that  mean,  Phoebe  ?  "  asked  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Why,"  replied  Phoebe,  "  'spect  it  means  if  a  body's 
a  cripple  so  they  can't  move  by  themselves,  they 
mussent  complain.  That's  the  hardest  to  pray,  Mr. 
Meagre,  but  I  does  pray  it  more'n  the  other  things ; 
and  I  can  pray  it  now  better  than  I  could.  'Spect 
that's  'cause  the  kingdom's  comin'  in  me." 

Yes !  that  was  the  meaning  of  that  petition  to  Phoebe 
Ross.  The  poor  child  did  not  remember  any  more  of 
the  prayer  just  then,  and  Mr.  Meagre  did  not  refresh 
her  memory,  for  he  saw  that  her  nervous  system  was 
becoming  excited,  and  he  felt  a  little  tearful  himself. 
Besides,  he  thought  that  Phoebe  had  taught  him  enough 
for  one  day.  So  he  left  her  with  her  mother  and  went 
out  to  think  about  his  lesson,  promising  to  return  after 
she  had  been  refreshed  by  a  little  sleep,  and  offer  up 
the  prayer  with  her  without  requiring  her  to  furnish 
him  with  a  commentary  upon  it. 

The  young  parson  had  one  regret  after  this  visit. 
One  of  his  professional  brethren  had  allowed  his  pre- 
judice against  forms  of  prayer  to  go  so  far  as  to  set 


PH03BE    AS    A    CHRISTIAN.  327 

down  the  one  that  Christ  Himself  had  given,  as  a 
Jewish  document.  His  argument  was  that  the  name 
of  Christ  was  not  mentioned  in  it  as  it  should  have 
been  if  intended  for  the  Christian  dispensation.  Had 
that  brother  been  in  attendance  upon  the  little  Semi- 
nary in  Doctor  Arlington's  apple  orchard  that  after- 
noon, he  might  have  learned  in  Whom  alone  men  are 
enabled  to  say,  "Our  Father  which  art  in  heaven." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

PHGEBE    AS    A   CHRISTIAN. 

MR.  MEAGRE  became  more  and  more  convinced 
every  day,  that  Mrs.  Ross  was  not  mistaken  in  the 
hope  that  she  had  of  her  child.  The  Saviour  himself 
has  given  the  test  by  which  that  was  to  be  determined. 
"  By  their  fruits  sliall  ye  know  them." 

Phoebe  unquestionably  grew  up  a  Christian  without 
remembering  any  special  moment  or  set  of  conscious 
exercises  by  which  she  became  a  child  of  God.  The 
thought  never  seemed  to  cross  her  mind  of  being  any- 
thing else  than  all  for  God.  All  her  talk  implied  that 
she  regarded  her  relation  to  God  as  a  filial  one,  and 
her  habit  of  finding  analogies  between  her  natural 
and  spiritual  life,  gave  proof  that  she  apprehended 
religion  as  a  life.  The  dear  child  never  had  any  of 
those  deep  convictions  of  sin  that  seem  to  mark  the 


328  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

experience  of  some  people.  This  was  not  to  be  won  • 
dered  at.  Her  life  had  never  been  characterized  by 
an  outward  departure  into  flagrant  wickedness.  She, 
perhaps,  did  not  fully  know  what  was  meant  by  some 
of  the  sins  mentioned  in  the  decalogue.  Her  mother 
had  spoken  less  to  her  of  the  terrors  of  Sinai,  than  of 
the  love  of  Calvary,  and  she  had  "  not  come  unto  the 
mount  that  might  be  touched,  and  that  burned  with 
fire,  not  unto  blackness,  and  darkness,  and  tempest," 
but  "  to  Jesus,  the  mediator  of  the  new  covenant,  and 
to  the  blood  of  sprinkling,  that  speaketh  better  things 
than  that  of  Abel." 

A  man  who  professed  that  he  had  seen  the  lurid 
glare  of  the  pit,  and  thought  that  every  person  must 
have  the  same  experience,  once  made  it  his  duty  to 
call  upon  the  poor  child  in  order  that  he  might  see 
that  "all  was  right  with  her  soul."  Mr.  Bench 
seated  himself  before  Phoebe,  and  with  a  most  woe- 
begotten  countenance,  asked,  "  'D'you  feel  y'or  a 
nawful  sinner-r-r  ?  " 

"No  sir,"  replied  the  unsophisticated  little  girl. 
"  I  don't  feels  it,  but  I  knows  it.  Never  suffer'd  like 
my  mother  'bout  it,  but  that  don't  make  no  difference. 
I  don't  feel  no  pains  when  once  the  spasm's  on  me 
fair,  and  yit  I'm  nighest  to  death  then.  Body  can 
be  in  danger  without  feelin'  it.  Body  needn't  wait 
for  that,  but  just  be  'bedient  with  joy  like,  to  get  safe 
when  the  way's  pinted  out.  Christ  —  He's  the  way. 
He's  my  righteousness,  Mr.  Bench." 

But  if  Phoebe  Ross  had  no  very  pungent  oonvic- 


PH(EBE    AS    A    CHRISTIAN.  329 

tions  of  sin,  she  was  wonderfully  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  God's  holiness.  That  was  to  her  ineffable. 
A  remark  that  she  once  made  about  this,  won  for  her 
the  title  of  "the  little  theologian,"  although  she 
never  knew  she  went  by  that  name,  and  would  not 
have  understood  the  term  if  she  had  been  told  of  it. 
Speaking  of  God's  peerless  holiness,  she  said:  <klt's 
brighter  than  the  light  when  the  sun's  shinin'  in  your 
face.  No  body  couldn't  look  at  it,  only  a  veil  was 
put  on  it.  That  was  Christ's  flesh,  Mr.  Meagre.  He 
cover'd  the  glory  up,  and  bring'd  it  to  us  when  He 
was  born'd  into  the  world.  And  when  the  Holy 
Spirit  gives  us  what's  good  from  Him,  then  we  can  be 
tooked  right  up  to  where  God  is  and  see  His  glory 
without  bein'  killed  by  it.  We'll  joy  in  it." 

Yes,  to  Phoebe,  Christ  was  indeed  the  incarnation 
of  all  the  glorious  perfections  of  Deity,  and  to  His 
image  she  strove  to  be  conformed.  There  was  about 
her,  a  constant  yearning  for  this  one  thing,  and  to 
this  she  seemed  to  be  helped  by  a  supernatural 
promptitude.  "  Blessed  are  they  that  hunger  and 
thirst  after  righteousness,  for  they  shall  be  filled." 

After  her  confirmation,  this  desire  to  be  conformed 
to  the  image  of  Christ,  to  be  filled  with  the  fulness 
of  God,  breathed  through  her  life  more  than  ever. 
And  she  was  permitted  in  some  measure  to  aiftedate 
her  destiny.  She  found  peace  in  believing,  and  her 
faith  increased  more  and  more.  There  was  to  her  a 
sensible  sweetness  in  prayer,  a  joy  in  the  sacraments, 
and  at  last  even  a  holy  reli-sh  for  the  sufferings  God 
28* 


330  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

called  upon  her  to  endure.  She  grew  in  grace  and 
in  the  knowledge  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  All  the 
peaceable  fruits  of  the  Spirit  adorned  her  life,  and 
she  exhibited  a  holiness  of  character  which  even 
Avicked  people  looked  upon  with  profound  reverence. 

With  this  holiness  of  character,  there  came  an  en- 
lightenment of  mind.  "I  am  the  light  of  the  world," 
says  Christ :  "  he  that  followeth  me  shall  not  walk  in 
darkness,  but  shall  have  the  light  of  life  abiding  in 
Him."  "  In  Him  was  life,  and  the  life  was  the  light 
of  men."  "If  any  man  will  do  His  will,  he  shall  know 
of  the  doctrine,  whether  it  be  of  God."  "  Then  shall 
we  know  if  we  follow  on  to  know  the  Lord."  "  The 
path  of  the  just  is  "as  the  shining  light,  that  shineth 
more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day." 

Phoebe  was  always  ready  to  give  a  reason  for  the 
hope  that  was  in  her,  and  yet  she  never  attempted  to 
understand  the  mysterious  workings  of  grace  in  her 
soul.  In  the  latter  part  of  the  young  parson's  inter- 
course with  her,  he  felt  more  safe  in  asking  her  ques- 
tions in  regard  to  this.  When  he  did  so,  it  was  always 
with  the  expectation  that  he  would  learn  something 
from  rather  than  teach  anything  to  her.  As  intimated 
before,  she  made  use  of  analogy  a  good  deal. 

"It's  glorious  that  I  was  born'd  into  the  world," 
she  once  said,  "else  I  couldn't  a  lived  forever;  but  it 
is  best  of  all  that  I  was  born'd  over  again  of  the  water 
and  the  Spirit,  like  our  blessed  Saviour  said  to^the 
ruler  that  come  to  him  at  night,  else  my  livin'  forever 
wouldn't  a  been  with  the  Lord." 


PHCEBE-AS    A    CHRISTIAN.  331 

"  How  could  you  be  born  again,  and  yet  not  know 
it?"  asked  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Don't  know  how.  It's  like  the  wind,  nobody 
don't  know  where  it  comes  from,  or  where  it  goes 
to,"  answered  the  child. 

"  But  Phoebe,  I  did  not  mean  to  ask  about  the  way 
in  which  it  was  done.  I  rather  .meant  to  ask  whether 
you  could  be  a  child  of  God,  and  yet  not  know  it  at 
the  very  time." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied,  "  it  was  a  good  while  afore 
I  know'd  I  was  my  mother's  own  child,  but  I  was  her 
child  anyhow." 

Once,  too,  when  she  professed  to  have  been  strength- 
ened by  the  sacrament,  the  young  parson  asked  her 
how  that  could  be  —  how  she  knew  that  she  was  made 
strong  in  her  heart  by  the  communion. 

"Don't  know  how,"  she  answered.  "Don't  know 
how  bread  and  milk  makes  bones ;  but  I  eats  bread 
and  milk,  and  the  bones  is  comin'.  See !  I  can  hold 
the  little  pictures  myself  now.  'Spec  its  the  same 
way  in  the  blessed  sacrament.  The  Spirit  'plies  it 
to  me  like  natur'  'plies  what  I  eats  nateral  to  my 
body." 


832  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

THE    PICTURES  — PHCEBE'S    SUGGESTIONS. 

THERE  were  some  very  pleasant  little  episodes  in 
the  history  of  Rev.  Petit's  pastoral  care  of  Phoebe. 
One  of  them  may  be  given  to  show  that,  notwith- 
standing the  child's  helplessness  and  sufferings,  she 
enjoyed  some  things  in  life. 

Once  the  young  parson  came  from  Gainfield  to 
Pumbeditha,  ''atween  times,"  as  Phoebe  called  it. 
He  had  only  a  few  hours  to  stay,  and  of  course  could 
not  go  around  and  see  all  the  members,  as  he  was 
wont  to  do  when  he  remained  several  days.  As  no 
one  else  in  the  congregation  was  sick,  he  determined 
to  discriminate  in  Phoebe's  favor,  and  spend  the  little 
time  he  had  with  her.  Mrs.  Middleton  went  with  him 
to  the  cottage  to  enjoy  the  child's  glad  surprise. 
Whilst  they  were  talking  to  her,  there  was  a  gentle 
tap  at  the  door,  and  without  waiting  for  any  one  to 
open  it,  Miss  Mary  Arlington  entered.  She  was 
dressed  in  simple  white  muslin,  and  wore  a  thin  white  sun- 
bonnet,  with  a  cape  that  extended  down  to  her  waist. 
She  had, "just  brought  some  farina  that  pa  said  his 
little  patient  might  eat."  Miss  Molly  was  astonished 
at  finding  her  reverend  friend  there,  but  instead  of 
"  taking  on  "  in  such  a  way  as  to  convince  any  one 


,       THE     PICTURES.  333 

that  she  was  either  pleased  or  embarrassed  by  his 
presence,  she  approached  him  and  frankly  extended 
her  hand,  which  Kev.  Petit  shook  cordially.  When 
their  customary  salutations  were  over,  the  parties 
stood  before  Phoebe,  talking  to  her  as  the  object  of 
interest  that  had  brought  them  both  there.  Presently 
the  little  girl's  eyes  brightened  as  if  some  pleasant 
thought  had  struck  her. 

"What  is  it,  Phoebe  ?  "  asked  Rev.  Petit. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Meagre,  you  and  Miss  Mary  ought  to 
git  married." 

Phoebe's  proposition  raised  a  great  laugh,  in  which 
slip  joined  as  heartily  as  any  one.  Rev.  Petit  and 
Miss  Molly  both  blushed,  as  Mrs.  Ross  said,  and  each 
one  avowed  that  their  little  friend  was  trying  to  get 
the  other  into  a  scrape. 

"  Well !  "  said  Phoebe,  "  one's  all  dres't  black,  and 
one's  all  dres't  white,  like  in  the  picture  Emma  and 
Theresa  bring'd  from  brother  David's  to  show  me,  and 
them  two  standin'  up  in  the  picture  was  gettin'  mar- 
ried. The  lady  had  a  white  thing  on  her  head,  most 
like  Miss  Molly's  bonnet,  and  they  was  all  both  jinin' 
hands  like  you  two  was." 

"Ah !  yes,  Phoebe,  but  that  gentleman  loved  the 
lady.  You  will  have  to  get  Mr.  Meagre  to  love  me, 
and  say  all  kinds  of  nice  things,"  said  Miss  Molly, 
casting  a  pleasant  look  at  Mrs.  Middleton. 

"  Well,"  said  Phoebe,  "  very  last  time  he  was  here, 
he  was  sittin'  right  side  of  me  showin'  me  somethin', 
and  I  was  feelin'  his  nice  black  sleeves,  cause  they 


334  THE    Y  0  U  JXT  G    PARSON. 

was  so  soft  to  my  fingers,  and  when  I  tell'd  him  how 
good  you  was  to  read  and  'splain  things  and  talk  so 
kind  like,  then  he  said  you  was  sweet,  then." 

This  announcement  gave  rise  to  increased  merri- 
ment. The  young  parson  acknowledged  that  he  had 
said  some  such  thing,  but  did  not  expect  it  would  ever 
reach  Miss  Mary's  ear.  Miss  Mary  had  no  doubt  of 
the  truth  of  Phoebe's  report,  and  said  that  Mr.  Meagre 
had  paid  a  tribute  to  her  amiability  that  had  long  been 
unjustly  withheld.  She  thought  she  had  better  refer 
the  young  gentleman  to  her  pa. 

"  He'll  be  glad,  cause  why,  he  tell'd  my  mother 
Mr.  Meagre  quite  winned  his  heart,"  exclaimed 
Phoebe. 

"No  inexorable  parent  to  contend  with,"  said  the 
young  parson,  repeating  Miss  Molly's  signal  to  Mrs. 
Middleton. 

"  But,  Pho3be,"  said  Miss  Mary,  "  Mr.  Meagre  will 
have  to  win  my  heart,  or  else  pa  won't  give  me  to  him. 
What  pa  said  won't  do ;  you  will  have  to  find  some- 
thing that  Jsaid." 

Phoebe  became  greatly  excited  at  this  challenge. 
She  tried  to  clap  her  hands  in  advance,  but,  poor 
child,  her  fingers  became  dreadfully  tangled,  liisa 
Molly  kindly  unloosed  them.  "  There,  now,  my  dear," 
she  soothingly  said  when  she  was  done,  "  be  calm,  or 
you  might  make  yourself  sick.  Just  speak  slowly,  arid 
you  may  tell  the  company  the  sweetest  thing  you  ever 
heard  me  say  about  Mr.  Meagre." 


THE     PICTURES.  335 

"  Well,  wait  till  I  rest's,"  said  Phoebe,  drawing  a 
long  breath. 

Mrs.  Middleton  suggested  that  Mrs.  Ross  should 
give  the  child  a  little  sugar  to  allay  a  hiccough.  At 
length  the  little  girl  having  regained  her  composure, 
"  announced  that  Miss  Molly  said  that  Mr.  Meagre 
was  worth  catching." 

Miss  Mary  had  forgotten  that  she  had  expressed 
such  an  opinion,  but  remembered  it  nojv  that  her 
little  friend  had  reminded  her  of  it.  Mr.  Meagre  said 
he  had  long  been  of  that  opinion  himself,  and  the  only 
wonder  he  had  was,  that  no  one  had  ever  tried  to 
catch  him. 

Dear,  dear  little  Phoebe  !  What  fun  that  talk  was 
to  her !  And  how  nearly  it  came  making  her  sick ! 
She  was  the  first  one  of  Mr.  Meagre's  members  that 
had  approached  him  directly  on  that  subject.  But 
both  he  and  his  fair  friend  looked  upon  the  little  girl 
as  if  to  say,  that  she  might  claim  any  privilege,  espe- 
cially before  such  an  audience  as  that. 

Mrs.  Middleton  often  laughed  at  Phoebe's  child-like 
betrayal.  Once  or  twice  she  told  him  if  he  wanted  to 
regale  himself,  he  had  better  go  down  to  the  doctor's 
and  talk  about  the  Greek  poets.  And  no  one  knew 
but  that  the  young  parson  had  some  desire  to  put 
himself  in  such  a  relation  to  Miss  Arlington  as  would 
justify  him  in  taking  a  horse-back  ride  with  her  to 
the  mountain  top.  But  Miss  Molly  had  a  gentleman 
friend,  who  came  from  a  distance  to  see  her  about  that 
When  he  went  away,  the  young  lady  had  one 


336  THE    YOUNG    PAKSON. 

more  ring  on  her  finger  than  she  had  when  he  came, 
and  so 

The  little  incident  just  related  showed  that  little 
Phoebe  could  catch  an  idea  from  a  picture.  Indeed, 
she  had  learned  a  great  deal  in  this  way.  The  "Views 
of  English  lakes  "  had  pleased  her  highly,  although 
no  one  ever  attempted  to  teach  her  the  hard  names. 
The  Scripture  scenes  had  been  a  means  of  interest 
and  profitable  instruction  to  her,  although  some  one 
did  say,  that  Meagre  was  teaching  Ross's  dwarf  child 
to  be  a  Catholic. 

The  little  girl's  aptitude  to  learn  in  this  way  en- 
couraged the  young  parson  to  bring  from  the  walls 
of  his  room  in  Gainfield  a  fine,  lai'ge  engraving  of  one 
of  Ary  Sehefler's  pieces.  The  remarks  made  by 
Phoebe  about  this  picture  may  serve  to  show  what 
kind  of  lessons  she  sometimes  learned  in  this  way. 
Rev.  Petit  held  it  by  the  gilt  frame  before  his  little 
pupil,  and  she  gazed  at  it  intently.  Presently  she 
pointed  to  the  central  figure,  and  said :  "  That's  our 
blessed  Saviour ;  He  must  have  been  a  pretty  man. 
He  was  God,  too,  and  had  no  sin  about  Him,  and  that's 
the  reason  He  was  such  a  pretty  man."  Then  point- 
ing to  a  figure  of  an  impotent  one  lying  at  the 
Saviour's  feet,  she  said  excitedly  :  "  There's  a  cripple 
just  like  me.  The  blessed  Redeemer  is  just  goin'  to 
raise  him  up,  and  make  him  straight  and  pretty  like 
Himself.  That's  what  He's  goin'  to  do  for  me,  too. 
You  know,  Mr.  Meagre,  you  told  in  a  sarmont,  what 
Christ  did  for  poor  cripples  when  he  was  on  the  earth, 


DIVINE     GRACE     ILLUSTRATED.        337 

just  show'd  what  he  was  goin'  to  do  for  all  them  that's 
cripples.  That's  what  I  groans  for  —  the  redemption 
of  my  body.  That'll  be  'complished  when  I  rises  at 
the  last  day.  Then  I'll  rise  in  His  likeness ;  then  I 
won't  be  a  poor  cripple  then  like  that  one  layin'  there, 
but  be  perfect  like  my  Saviour  standing  there." 

These  remarks  confirmed  the  young  parson  in  an 
opinion  that  he  had  long  entertained  in  regard  to 
Phoebe's  idea  of  some  things.  There  was  .not  a  trace 
of  Gnosticism  about  her.  Although  she  knew  that 
Christ  was  God,  His  incarnation  was  to  her  mind  a 
real  historical  fact.  He  had  fairly  assumed  our 
humanity,  and  in  His  own  person  was  the  realization 
of  perfect  humanity.  Yes,  yes,  little  Phoebe  was 
right ;  the  physical  organization  of  the  sinless  One 
must  have  been  beautiful.  And  then,  too,  this  same 
perfection  was  to  be  actualized  in  the  person  of  every 
one  of  God's  dear  children.  How  many  professed 
theologians  fail  to  conceive  of  redemption  as  such  a 
glorious  reality. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

DIVINE    GRACE    ILLUSTRATED. 

AMONG  the  things  that  troubled  Phoebe  most  wag 

the  fact  that  she  was  not  able  to  perform  any  active 

duties.    For  although  she  knew  that  it  was  a  want  of 

ability  with  her,  rather  than  of  disposition,  and  that 

29 


338  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

she  would  not  be  held  accountable  for  her  weak 
physical  condition,  it  would  have  been  a  gratification 
to  her  to  have  done  some  little  work  that  might  have 
redounded  to  the  glory  of  her  Blessed  Master.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  constraining  love  for  Christ  at  the 
root  of  this  feeling.  The  young  parson  told  her  one 
day  of  a  little  blind  girl  who  wove  baskets,  and  thanked 
God  that  she  was  blind,  because  she  did  not  need 
candles  to  work  by,  and  could  give  the  money  other 
people  had  to  spend  for  them  to  the  Saviour's  cause. 
This  anecdote  was  told  with  the  simple  view  of  show- 
ing Phoebe  how  the  pious  soul  could  extract  sacred 
sweets  from  the  bitter  ills  of  life.  But  it  set  the  poor 
child  to  thinking,  and  she  became  sad  when  she  re- 
membered that  she  could  not  weave  baskets,  and  that 
her  fingers  were  too  weak  to  allow  her  even  to  knit. 
She  seemed  to  have  a  strong  feeling  on  her  mind  that 
while  she  was  receiving  so  much  from  God,  he  wanted 
something  particular  from  her. 

Not  long  after  this,  she  asked  her  pastor  if  God 
could  speak  to  people  in  dreams  now,  "  like  in  old 
times  when  the  Holy  Bible  was  writ." 

"Yes,  Phoebe,"  said  Mr.  Meagre,  " God  can  do  it, 
and  He  perhaps  does  teach  people  in  that  way,  at 
times.  Men  have  lived  since  the  Bible  was  written 
who  have  been  brought  to  think  of  God,  and  what  they 
owed  to  Him,  by  means  of  dreams.  But  why  do  you 
ask,  Phoebe  ?  Have  you  had  a  dream  ?  " 

"Don't  know,  sir,"  replied  Phoebe,  "mebbe  you 
read  it  to  me  —  you,  else  Miss  Mary,  or  some  of  you 


DIVINE    GRACE    ILLUSTRATED.         339 

ones :  cause  why,  when  I  gets  the  spasms  I  forgets 
things,  and  then  when  they  comes  back  to  me,  I  don't 
know  how  I  larnt  'em." 

"What  was  the  dream,  Phoebe?  Tell  me,  and 
then  may  be  I  will  know  whether  I  have  ever  read 
anything  like  it  to  you,"  said  the  young  parson. 

"Was  about  the  Great  Master  Builder,"  said  little 
Phoebe. 

"  I  do  not  remember  that  I  ever  read  about  any- 
thing like  that  to  you,  but  may  be  Miss  Mary  Arling- 
ton or  Mrs.  Middleton  did,"  said  Rev.  Petit.  "But 
do  tell  me  about  it." 

"  Well,"  commenced  Phoebe,  "  when  my  mother  put 
me  to  bed,  I  'magin'd  I  was  out  in  the  big  woods,  and 
the  Great  Master  Builder  was  a  goin'  to  build  a  big 
grand  temple  for  His  glory  to  shine  in ;  and  He  took 
the  trees  to  build  the  grand  temple  with  'em ;  and 
there  was  a  whole  heap  of  nice  big  straight  trees 
there,  but  He  wanted  to  put  one  little  crooked  one  in, 
and  He  had  to  cut  and  bend  it  a  whole  heap  before  it 
would  do  to  go  in  the  grand  temple  the  Master  Builder 
was  a  building  for  His  glory  to  shine  in.  Now,  Mr. 
Meagre,  wasn't  that  little  crooked  stick  me?" 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear  child,"  said  the  young 
parson,  fervently.  "  It  makes  no  difference  whether 
you  dreamed  that,  or  whether  it  was  read  to  you. 
This  I  know,  that  God  intended  to  teach  you  that  your 
Bufferings  are  intended  for  your  good  and  for  His 
glory.  The  Bible  teaches  you  the  same  thing." 

The  young  parson  then  quoted  a  number  of  passa- 


340  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

ges  bearing  on  the  point,  and  they  seemed  to  make  a 
deep  impression  on  the  little  girl's  mind.  Some  of 
those  same  Scriptures  had  been  repeated  in  her  hear- 
ing before,  but  she  had  not  seen  the  force  of  them  as 
she  appeared  to  see  it  now. 

"Mr.  Meagre,"  she  said,  "  'Spec  the  way  I  corned 
to  dream  that  was,  my  mother  was  a  washin',  and  I 
was  all  by  myself;  and  I  was  a  thinkin'  'bout  the 
woods  where  we  used  to  live  when  you  fust  corned'  to 
see  me,  and  how  as  God  made  the  woods.  And  I 
'membered  a  little  crooked  tree  up  there,  and  how  as 
God  made  that  too,  and  didn't  make  it  for  nuthin'. 
And  then  I  was  a  thinkin'  'bout  what  mother  read  in 
the  Bible  book  'bout  God's  buildin',  only  that  was 
made  of  livin'  stones  —  them's  people,  Mr.  Meagre, 
and  the  blessed  Jesus  is  chiefest  'mong  'em  all.  He's 
God  as  well  as  man,  and  that's  the  reason  He's  chief- 
est 'mong  'em  all,  and  all  the  people  'pends  on  him 
for  a  foundation  like.  If  it  wussent  for  Him,  none 
of  the  people'd  be  livin'  and  no  glory'd  shine  in  'em. 
Well,  I  was  thinkin'  'bout  the  woods  and  the  temple 
—  them  two  things,  and  at  night  when  I  said  my 
prayers  and  asked  God  to  make  me  a  livin'  stone,  I 
goed  to  sleep  and  'spect  I  got  them  two  things  all 
both  'fused  in  my  mind." 

How  true  that  dreams  are  the  mental  patchwork  of 
our  every-day  thoughts!  mused  the  young  parson. 
Here  this  dear  child's  sweet  pious  meditations  did  not 
forsake  her  when  she  slept,  and  God  has  a  lesson  in 
all  this  for  her.  "  Well,  Phoebe,"  he  asked,  recover- 


DIVINE    GRACE    ILLUSTRATED.        341 

ing  himself  from  his  reverie,  "  has  God  taught  you 
nothing  in  your  dream  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  'spec  he  wanted  me  to  know  how,  if  I 
couldn't  work,  the  blessed  Saviour's  life  could  be  in 
mo,  and  that  the  glory  could  be  shined  out  if  I  suffered 
patient." 

"  That  is  just  what  he  would  have  you  know,  my 
dear  child,"  said  the  little  parson. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  Phoebe,  "  when  you  pray 
with  me  afore  you  go,  won't  you  ask  our  Heavenly 
Father,  to  forgive  me  cause  I  cried  so  when  the  cramp 
doubled  up  my  hands  and  feet  in  knots.  I  know'd  it 
was  wrong,  but  the  pains  did  hurt  so  !  But  the  pains 
didn't  hurt  as  much  as  the  Blessed  Jesus  sufferin's 
hurt  Him  when  He  sweat  blood  and  was  crucified  on 
the  cross.  0,  Mr.  Meagre,  nails  went  right  through 
His  hands  and  feet." 

"It  was  not  sinful  in  you  to  cry,"  broke  in  the 
young  parson,  vainly  trying  to  keep  back  his  tears. 
"  You  did  not  murmur,  /  know  you  did  not  murmur," 
he  added  with  warmth. 

"  Yes,  I  did,  Mr.  Meagre,"  said  Phoebe,  calmly. 
"  I  wished  my  Heavenly  Father  would  take  me  when 
He  wasn't  ready.  'Spec  He  know'd  I  wasn't  polished 
enough  yet ;  but,  Mr.  Meagre,  tell  Him  He  may  make 
me  suffer  a  whole  heap  more  —  much  as  He  thinks 
right  if  only  He  puts  me  in  the  temple  like  the  Master 
Builder  put  the  crooked  stick  in  the  temple  Ho  was 
buildin'  for  His  glory  to  shine  in." 

All  that  Paul  had  ever  said  about  sufferings  and 
2U  * 


342  THE    YOUNG    PARSON". 

glory,  seemed  to  flash  into  the  young  parson's  mind, 
and  he  poured  it  out  for  the  comfort  of  the  afflicted 
child.  Then  he  prayed  that  she  might  be  enabled  to 
endure  patiently,  to  the  end,  and  at  last  be  crowned 
with  glory !  as  of  the  glory  of  the  Lord.  Had  not 
that  glory  already  begun  to  be  revealed  ? 

When  Rev.  Petit  left  the  cottage  that  evening,  he 
did  not  go  home  immediately,  but  spent  several  hours 
under  an  apple-tree  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  orchard. 
Here,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  sought  to  relieve  his  heart 
through  the  fountains  of  his  eyes.  Nor  were  his 
tears  those  of  mere  sentiment,  although  he  recognized 
a  great  deal  of  aesthetic  beauty  in  what  he  saw  of 
Phcebe  that  day.  They  were  real  penitential  tears. 
He  felt  that  he  had  been  one  of  the  most  ungrateful 
wretches  that  ever  lived.  For  he  had  enjoyed  every 
earthly  blessing  —  yea,  his  whole  life  had  been  one 
big  mercy.  He  had  never  known  physical  suffering ; 
he  had  never  known  a  real  want.  A  beautiful  sky 
had  always  spread  itself  above  him.  Even  the  clouds 
of  domestic  affliction  that  had  gathered  over  his  home 
from  time  to  time,  had  been  fringed  with  heavenly 
light.  And  yet  he  had  not  attained  to  anything  like 
the  degree  of  grace  exhibited  in  the  life  of  his  afflicted 
little  parishioner.  Was  he  fit  to  be  her  pastor  ?  He 
thought  not.  Had  the  new  life  ever  been  imparted 
to  him  ?  He  almost  doubted  it.  And  the  only  con- 
solation he  could  find,  was  in  looking  away  from  him- 
self to  the  One  whose  glorious  merits  might  avail  for 
all. 


DIVINE    GRACE    ILLUSTRATED.         343 

It  was  quite  dark  when  the  young  parson  exchnnged 
liis  solitude  for  the  company  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Middle- 
ton  in  their  pleasant  drawing-room,  and  when  he  re- 
lated to  them  the  conversation  that  had  taken  place 
that  day,  tears  rolled  down  the  good  woman's  cheeks, 
and  her  kind  husband  had  recourse  to  his  handker- 
chief. 

That  night,  when  Mr.  Meagre  went  to  his  own  room, 
he  found  a  copy  of  Lord  Byron's  poems  lying  open 
on  his  table.  Glancing  at  the  top  of  the  page  his 
eye  caught  the  words,  "  Deformed  transformed." 
The  Rev.  Petit  quickly  closed  the  book,  and  was 
strongly  tempted  to  throw  it  out  of  the  window.  He 
opened  his  Bible  and  read  about  the  Shekinah  —  the 
visual  presence  of  God  in  the  tabernacle  —  not  only 
the  type  of  Him  in  whom  dwelt  the  fulness  of  the 
Godhead  bodily,  and  of  the  Church  —  the  perpetual 
home  of  the  Spirit,  but  the  representation  of  what 
every  human  body  may  become  —  a  temple  of  the 
Holy  Ghost.  He  read  the  account  of  tho  Saviour's 
transfiguration,  where  the  glory  of  God  broke  through 
the  veil,  and  showed  the  brightness  that  is  to  be  re- 
vealed in  us.  He  turned  to  passage  after  passage 
that  spoke  of  the  transforming  nature  and  power  of 
that  grace,  by  which  the  heirs  of  salvation  are  to  be 
made  like  their  Living  Head.  And  when  he  thought 
of  the  spirit  of  Holiness  that  breathed  through 
Phoebe's  life,  and  already  seemed  to  irradiate  her 
countenance,  and  remembered  that  all  this  was  to 
find  its  true  consummation  at  last  in  the  redemption 


344  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

of  her  body,  he  saw  in  it  an  illustration  of  the  beauty 
and  reality  of  our  holy  religion  such  as  he  had  never 
seen  before. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

PIKEBE'S    NEW    SORROW. 

LITTLE  Phoebe  Ross  was  still  living  when  Rev.  Mr. 
Meagre's  regular  ministry  at  Pumbeditha  terminated^ 
and  his  sorrow  at  ^,oing  away  was  greatly  increased 
by  the  fact  that  he  had  to  take  leave  of  the  dear 
child.  To  Phoebe,  too,  this  was  a  heavy  stroke,  for 
she  loved  her  pastor  as  one  member  of  the  body 
mystical  should  love  another,  and  looked  up  to  him 
as  one  who  spoke  as  the  oracles  of  God.  It  had 
never  occurred  to  her  that  she  would  be  separated 
from  him  until  she  was  taken  to  her  rest.  That  event 
was  to  be  her  release,  and  she  looked  forward  to  it  as 
children  usually  look  forward  to  the  crowning  festivi- 
ties of  a  holiday.  She  spoke  of  the  fact  that  her 
body  would  be  put  under  the  ground,  as  she  spoke  of 
its  being  laid  on  her  bed  when  a  day  of  weary  suffer- 
ing had  come  to  a  close.  Then  the  resurrection  hymn 
would  be  sung  just  as  her  mother  sometimes  continued 
a  Christian  lullaby,  for  her  own  comfort  after  her 
child  had  been  soothed  to  sleep  by  it.  In  all  of  this 
Mr.  Meagre  was  to  take  a  prominent  part.  She  did 


PH(EBE'S     NEW     SORROW.  345 

not  know  any  other  minister,  and  could  not  see  how- 
he  was  to  be  spared  from  the  programme  she  had 
made  out  for  her  burial.  Yes,  it  was  all  arranged  in 
Phoebe's  mind,  what  every  one  was  to  do.  Mrs. 
Middleton  had  promised  to  dress  her  in  white,  and 
Miss  Molly  was  to  lay  some  pale  roses  on  her  breast, 
and  otherwise  deck  her  for  the  bridal  of  the  tomb. 
But  above  all,  her  pastor,  who  had  been  with  her  "all 
the  time,"  was  to  give  her  the  communion  just  before 
she  died,  if  she  had  no  spasm,  and  after  she  was  gone 
he  was  to  conduct  the  funeral  services,  and  tell  the 
people  how  good  God  had  been  to  her. 

Phoebe  often  spoke  of  these  things  to  Mr.  Meagre. 
"  Then  I'll  be  most  happiest  of  all  of  you  ones  then," 
she  said  one  day.  "My  spirit  '11  turn  back  to  smile 
on  you,  when  it  gits  free  and  is  goin',  and  I'll  be 
purty  nigh  tempted  to  pity  you  ones  then,  but  I  won't 
think  myself  'bove  you  cause  I'll  have  it  best,  for  I'll 
know  more'n  ever  that  it's  God's  favor  that  I've  got 
it  best." 

Was  it  a  wonder  that  the  young  parson  felt  sad  at 
parting  with  Phoebe, — that  night  after  night,  as  he 
was  trying  to  determine  his  duty,  the  figure  of  the 
deformed  little  girl  would  come  before  him  and  make 
him  feel  that  it  would  almost  break  his  heart-strings 
to  leave  her  ?  Ah,  there  was  one  of  the  strongest  ties 
to  bind  him  to  his  present  field  of  labor ;  and  once  or 
twice,  when  the  question  of  "go"  or  "stay,"  was 
under  debate,  the  mere  hope  that  he  might  be  spared 
to  perform  the  last  office  that  Phoebe's  Christian  love 


346  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

had  assigned  to  him  as  far  as  she  was  concerned,  al- 
most turned  the  beam  in  favor  of  his  remaining  where 
he  was.  Alas !  there  were  some  things  that  he  could 
not  control,  and  Phcebe  had  to  be  told  that  she  must 
lose  her  pastor.  "  Who's  to  do  everything  for  me 
then?  Who's  to  give  me  the  sacrament  and  bury 
me  ?"  she  asked. 

Dear  child !  the  plans  she  had  formed  were  to  be 
broken  in  upon,  and  this  distressed  her  sadly.  Be- 
sides, as  said  before,  she  loved  her  pastor  almost  as 
much  as  he  loved  her,  and  the  idea  of  being  separated 
from  him  worked  upon  her  delicate  nerves  so  much, 
that  she  was  thrown  into  a  dreadful  convulsion.  She 
recovered  from  this,  however,  and  then  censured  her- 
self for  having  murmured.  After  that  she  bore  her 
bereavement  with  marked  serenity.  When  she  bade 
Mr.  Meagre  good-bye,  it  was  with  the  evident  expec- 
tation of  meeting  him  again,  only  the  meeting,  Phoebe 
thought,  would  be — in  heaven. 

The  young  parson  visited  Pumbeditha  occasionally 
after  he  had  resigned  the  pastorate  there,  and  of 
course  always  went  to  see  the  little  girl.  He  found 
her  the  same  bright  Christian,  "  only  waiting  'till  her 
change  would  come."  Once  or  twice  her  thoughts 
went  back  to  the  old  channel.  "'Twould  be  nice," 
she  said,  "  if  I'd  get  to  go  home  while  Mr.  Meagre's 
here.  Then  he'd  git  the  people  to  sing  the  Saviour's 
words  'bout  His  bein'  the  resurrection,  as  He  said  'em 
without  any  verses,  as  the  Christians  sung  'em  when 


THE    GOLD    BECOMES    DIM.  347 

they  buried  the  little  girl  that  the  tyrants  killed  in 
the  Cat'combs  long  time  ago."  But  it  was  not  God's 
will  that  she  should  he  relieved  then,  and  she  was 
submissive. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE  GOLD  BECOMES  DIM. 

BY  the  time  the  events  here  recorded,  together  with 
a  great  many  more  not  recorded,  had  transpired,  Rev. 
Petit  Meagre  had  been  pastor  of  the  Gainfield  parish 
about  four  years  —  a  longer  period  than  any  other 
man  had  continued  there,  except  Mr.  Hugenot,  whose 
prayers  and  toil,  and  tears  and  blood  had  witnessed 
his  devotion  to  the  people  of  that  charge.  And  by 
this  time,  Elder  Strapiron,  his  amiable  spouse,  and 
others  of  that  ilk,  having  grown  in  grace,  were  anx- 
iously waiting  for  their  change  —  of  pastors. 

The  young  clergyman,  it  will  be  recollected,  had 
been  heralded  as  a  juvenile  golden-mouthed  John 
Chrysostom  of  the  nineteenth  century,  who  was  to 
throw  his  elder  professional  brethren  into  the  shade, 
take  down  their  conventicles,  and  use  the  material  in 
building  up  his  own  congregation. 

Even  those  who  heard  Rev.  Petit  preach  his  "  trial 
sermon"  seemed  to  have  this  expectation ;  but  it  was 
disappointed  in  the  end,  although  it  may  be  said,  with- 


348  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

out  vanity,  that  the  young  divine's  subsequent  dis- 
courses were  improvements  upon  his  first  "powerful 
effort."  He  had  studied  hard,  and  if  he  brought  less 
bloom  to  the  pulpit,  from  time  to  time,  he  certainly 
brought  more  fruit.  But  Mr.  Corneel's  members  did 
not  always  wish  to  hear  Rev.  Petit,  when  they  had  no 
service  in  their  own  church.  One  or  two  of  Doctor 
Hale's  people,  who  had  been  induced  to  come  and 
taste  for  themselves,  did  not  care  to  sip  the  new  wine, 
because  the  old  was  better ;  nay,  even  Mr.  Surcingle 
went  back  to  Dr.  Kay,  in  the  course  of  two  weeks,  and 
some  of  Mr.  Meagre's  own  communicants  went  to 
other  churches  occasionally,  for  the  sake  of  variety. 

Albeit,  Rev.  Petit  tried  hard,  and  perhaps  foolishly, 
to  meet  the  wishes  of  some  of  his  people  in  one  re- 
spect. They  were  dreadfully  opposed  to  seeing  a 
minister  use  a  manuscript,  and  so  their  beloved  young 
preacher  resolved  to  walk  before  them  without  the 
aid  of  any  such  crutch.  He  wrote  his  sermons  care- 
fully, and  although  he  never  could  commit  one  to 
memory,  he  studied  his  subject  so  well,  that  he  usu- 
ally got  along  smoothly,  "  without  the  sign  of  a  note 
before  him." 

Once  there  was  something  like  a  departure  from 
this  regular  course,  which,  as  it  turned  out,  however, 
did  not  give  the  offence  that  the  young  parson  appre- 
hended. He  wished  to  give  a  long  quotation  from 
Dr.  Chalmers,  which  just  covered  a  point  that  he  was 
anxious  to  present  to  his  people  in  a  strong  light.  He 
could  not  commit  the  quotation,  for  it  was  a  two-col- 


THE    GOLD    BECOMES    DIM.  349 

umn  page  long,  so  he  wrote  it  off  on  a  sheet  of  fools- 
cap, took  it  to  the  pulpit,  and  giving  the  Scotch  divine 
due  credit,  read  it  at  the  proper  place,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded with  his  discourse  in  the  usual  way.  Fearing, 
however,  that  he  might  have  done  violence  to  the  feel- 
ings of  some  of  his  auditors,  he  afterwards  apologized 
for  it  to  a  young  deacon.  But  the  deacon  —  a  most 
unsophisticated  young  man  —  relieved  his  pastor's 
anxiety  by  saying :  "  Don't  be  troubled  about  that, 
Mr.  Meagre ;  I  only  wish  the  discourse  had  all  been 
Ch  aimer' s." 

But  this  apparent  extemporaneous  preaching,  al- 
though it  cost  the  young  parson  double  labor,  seemed 
to  be  so  easy,  that  a  part  of  his  flock  concluded  that 
he  did  not  study,  and  appointed  a  committee-man  to 
tell  the  preacher  that  it  "was  highly  desirable  that 
he  should  search  out  some  deep  subject,  and  bring  it 
to  the  sacred  desk  already  writ  out."  This  seemed  to 
be  in  the  spirit  of  the  man  who  wished  his  pastor  to 
give  the  people  some  Greek  and  Latin,  not  that  they 
understood  it,  but  because  they  paid  for  the  best,  and 
might  as  well  have  it. 

The  representative  of  the  Consistorial  College  took 
occasion  to  discharge  his  duty  one  evening,  just  as 
the  young  parson  was  going  into  the  church  to  preach 
—  the  worst  time  in  the  world  to  annoy  a  man  with 
raven-croakings.  However,  the  Rev.  Petit  replied 
pleasantly,  that  he  could  gratify  them  that  night,  and 
going  to  the  pulpit,  he  "  searched  out  a  deep  written 
sarmont,"  that  had  laid  in  the  back  of  the  Bible -a 


350  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

year,  spread  it  upside  down  before  him,  turned  over 
the  leaves,  and  preached  the  sermon  he  had  in  his 
mind  before  the  good  elder  met  him.  Not  until  he 
had  closed  the  Bible,  at  the  end  of  the  last  page 
of  the  manuscript,  and  raised  his  hands  to  ask  a  bless- 
ing upon  his  work,  did  the  moral  quality  of  his  ac- 
tion occur  to  him.  Then  he  saw  that  he  had,  as  a 
minister  of  the  Most  High  God,  in  a  holy  place,  en- 
acted a  lie — burnt  strange  fire  upon  the  altar,  to  pan- 
der to  low  prejudices  of  unreasonable  men.  He  felt 
that  he  deserved  to  be  smitten,  and  when  at  the  foot 
of  the  pulpit  stairs,  he  was  met  with  "  That's  some- 
thing like  the  thing  now,"  he  fully  exposed  the  whole 
proceeding,  and  declared  that  he  would,  thenceforth, 
read  or  not  read  sermons  and  prayers,  as  he  thought 
best,  and  never  deceive  the  people,  or  put  himself  in 
a  false  position  before  his  Lord  and  Master  —  a  reso- 
lution that  he  has  faithfully  kept  ever  since,  although 
it  has  cost  him  some  patronage. 

But  do  what  he  would,  he  failed  to  please  some  of 
these  folks.  And  although  they  had  praised  at  least 
three  of  his  "pulpit  efforts," — "the  trial  sermon,"  the 
one  he  had  "repeated,"  and  the  one  on  the  "bless- 
edness of  giving," — they  at  last  concluded  that  he 
had  never  preached  a  good  discourse  in  his  life.  This 
idea  was  given  out,  not  to  the  ministers  of  Rev.  Petit's 
Synod,  for  the  members  of  that  body  had  become  con- 
vinced that  any  effort  to  please  some  people  was  vain  ; 
but  occasionally  a  travelling  brother  would  listen  to 
their  talk,  and  encourage  it  by  saying  how  differently 


THE    FEMALE    SEWING    SOCIETY.       351 

and  how  much  better  he  did  at  home,  and  then  going 
away  and  telling  to  the  Church,  that  the  congrega- 
tion at  Gainfield  was  withering  under  Meagre's  min- 
istry. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

THE    FEMALE    SEWING    SOCIETY. 

BUT  besides  the  young  parson's  deficiency  in  the 
pulpit,  there  were  other  objections  to  him.  "  It  was 
easy  to  see  he  was'nt  the  right  man,  directly  he  came 
back  empty  from  that  collecting  trip.  He  had  the 
promise  from  above,  that  things  would  a  been  laid 
plentifully  to  his  hands,  if  only  he'd  appear'd  before 
the  people  with  strong  cryin'  and  supplication  like  he 
was  commanded  in  the  good  book." 

It  made  no  difference  to  some  of  these  people  that 
Mr.  Meagre's  necessary  expenses  were  so  far  above 
his  salary  that  he  was  obliged  to  pay  hundreds  from 
his  own  pocket  for  the  privilege  of  serving  them.  It 
made  no  difference  that,  at  the  proper  time,  he  had 
induced  some  wealthy  friends,  living  at  a  distance,  to 
have  the  church  repaired,  so  as  to  be  comfortable  to 
preach  and  worship  in,  and  beautiful  to  look  upon, 
without  any  expense  to  the  congregation,  except  one 
hundred  dollars,  which  was  gathered  from  a  liberal 
community  by  means  of  a  fair.  All  that  was  only  the 


352  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

tithing  of  the  mint  and  anise.  The  payment  of  the 
debt  still  due  "  to  a  few  of  us,"  by  funds  collected 
abroad,  was  the  weightier  matter,  that  had  been 
omitted. 

It  will  be  remembered,  however,  that  the  four  hun- 
dred dollar  debt  still  resting  upon  the  church  was, 
according  to  the  agreement  with  the  District  Synod, 
to  be  settled  by  the  members  of  the  congregation. 

When  this  ruling  was  first  announced,  it  was  thought 
advisable  that  the  amount  should  not  be  allowed  to 
increase.  And  so  a  '"  Female  sewing  society  was  es- 
tablished," the  object  of  which  was,  as  the  constitu- 
tion said,  "  to  pay  the  interest  upon  the  remainder 
of  the  balance  of  the  back-standing  debt." 

One  year  the  proceeds  of  this  society  amounted  to 
one  hundred  dollars,  and  a  large  majority  of  the  mem- 
bers proposed  to  take  a  part  of  the  money  and  pay 
an  oil  bill  of  long  standing.  Against  this  the  minor- 
ity filed  an  injunction,  and  called  in  a  brother  who 
took  a  "deep  interest"  in  the  matter,  as  arbiter.  He 
decided  that  it  would  be  unconstitutional  to  alienate 
the  funds  in  that  way.  The  majority  then  proposed 
that  all  the  surplus  money  should  go  towards  paying 
the  principal;  but  the  judge  being  a  strict  construc- 
tionist,  ruled,  that  according  to  the  instrument  that 
governed  them,  all  the  money  raised  by  the  society 
was  to  be  paid  for  interest.  An  attempt  was  next 
made  to  call  in  some  of  the  other  brethren,  but  it  was 
declared  that  the  society  was  a  "  Female  one,"  with 


THE    FEMALE    SEWING    SOCIETY.       353 

which  the  men  had  nothing  to  do,  and  all  those  favor- 
able to  giving  them  a  voice  were  publicly  ostracised. 

Some  of  the  outsiders  protested  against  the  pay- 
ment of  such  a  heavy  interest  as  twenty-five  per  cent., 
when  the  law  only  allowed  six,  but  the  brother  who 
wore  the  ermine  only  said :  "  There  are  three  of  us, 
and  by  the  time  the  money  is  divided,  there  won't  be 
much  more  than  six  per  cent,  apiece  on  the  whole 
amount,"  and  when  it  was  urged  that  each  creditor 
was  not  entitled  to  interest  on  the  whole  amount,  but 
on  the  part  due  to  him,  the  good  brother  exclaimed, 
"  I  don't  care,  I  can  only  say  in  the  language  of  the 
evangelical  prophet,  *  Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  sur- 
vive or  perish,  I  am  for  the  constitution  now  and  for- 
ever, one  and  inseparable.'  " 

Of  course  this  proceeding  raised  a  "  fuss,"  and  the 
higher  ecclesiastical  court  was  obliged  to  investigate 
the  matter,  when  it  was  found,  not  only  that  some  of 
the  brethren  were  disposed  to  take  exorbitant  interest, 
but  that  the  principal  claimed  was  not  due  to  them, 
as  their  own  subscriptions  had  never  been  paid ;  and 
vouchers  were  produced  to  show  that  they  had  been 
more  than  compensated,  according  to  the  contract  en- 
tered into  for  building  the  church.  The  dear  brethren 
had  unfortunately  killed  the  hen  that  laid  the  golden 

egg- 
Still  it  was  argued  that  Hugenot  and  Meagre  were 
to  blame  for  the  investigation,  and  that  *'  all  the  fuss 
might  have  been  avoided  it'  our  present  pastor  had 
colk'dci!   tin-  money  and  p:iiil  it  over  without  saying 

ao* 


354  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

• 

anything  about  it.  As  it  is,  his  influence  is  gone  with 
some  of  us.  But  a  body  can't  say  much  agin  any 
more  preachers  about  that,  or  Synod  might  appint 
another  committee  and  take  a  body  to  task,  and  so 
we  will  only  have  to  endure  sufferin'  like  good  soldiers, 
'till  Meagre  sends  in  his  resignment  of  his  own  free 
will,  and  allows  us  to  pick  on  another  man  that  don't 
know  everything  about  our  past  trials,  and  will  make 
an  effort  to  do  us  justice." 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

NEEDLES    AND    THORNS. 

ALTHOUGH  Othello's  occupation  was  gone,  the  Fe- 
male Sewing  Society  still  professed  to  keep  up  its 
organization.  The  best  women  of  the  congregation 
did  not  attend  its  meetings,  however,  for  it  only  met 
semi-occasionally  and  informally,  and,  indeed,  had 
dwindled  down  to  a  little  sociable,  at  which  the  merits 
or  rather  the  demerits  of  preachers,  church  members, 
and  people  generally  were  discussed — a  sort  of  "Star 
chamber,"  at  which  Rev.  Petit  Meagre  was  often  con- 
demned to  moral  and  ecclesiastical  decapitation. 

One  evening  when  this  society  was  in  session,  Miss 
Smartley,  who  had  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  a 
neighboring  State,  threw  up  her  head  majestically, 


NEEDLES    AND    THORNS.  3£5 

and  said :  "  Well,  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  Meagre.  He 
come  here  recommended  as  one  of  the  best  licenshes 
ever  was,  and  he  ain't  much  after  all.  Wish  he'd  go 
away  and  let  Mr.  Bilger  come  here.  Me  and  him'8 
acquainted.  He  tuck  me  to  a  pic-nic  while  I  was 
gone,  and  I  tell  you  he's  smart.  Said  some  Latin  to 
me  that  day,  and  writ  some  poetry  'bout  me.  I 
show'd  it  to  mother,  and  she  told  pap  it  would  be  nice 
if  he'd  become  our  minister." 

"  Is  he  good  lookin'?  "  asked  Matilda  Tilt,  who  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a  sort  of  Ishmaelitess  in  the  camp. 

"  0  splendid,  'Tilda,"  replied  Miss  Smartley.  "  Has 
long,  slick  hair,  and  parts  it  in  the  middle,  and  wears 
it  behind  his  ears,  and  he's  got  two  big  gold  rings  and 
a  breast  pin  with  his  pictur'  in  it." 

"Does  he  soap  his  hair?"  asked  Miss  Tilt. 

"0  'Tilda,  ain't  you  ashamed  to  talk  that  way 
'bout  a  minister.  I'd  be  afraid  to  talk  disrespectful 
'bout  enny  preacher." 

"  'Cept  Mr.  Meagre,"  replied  Miss  Tilt. 

"  0  Meagre!"  broke  in  Miss  Languish.  "I  never 
could  bear  him  since  that  time  he  fook  me  for  old  Mrs. 
Porwiggle.  Hope  that  Bilger  ain't  blind." 

*;  0  no,  he's  got  delicious  blue  eyes,"  said  Miss 
Smartley.  "  Said  ho  did'nt  have  to  use  enny  micro- 
scope when  he  studied  'stronomy.  He  knows  all 
'bout  'stronomy.  That  night  comin'  from  the  pic-nic 
he  show'd  me  which  star  was  the  milky  way  and  which 
one  the  summer  solstix." 

"Well,  my  objection  to  Meagre  is  them  pray  era,  "said 


856  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

Mrs.  Rowser.  "  I  'tacked  him  'bout  'em  one  day  right 
before  his  face,  and  you  know  everybody  ain't  got  the 
spunk  to  do  that.  'Mr.  Meagre,'  ses  I,  'if  the  peo- 
ple'd  a  know'd  you  was  goin'  to  use  them  prayers 
when  you  come  here  to  speak  your  trial-sermon,  you'd 
a  never  got  'lected  to  this  place.' " 

"  Don't  'spect  he  know'd  who  he  was  talkin'  to," 
said  Mrs.  Languish;  "but  what  did  he  say?" 

"  Kind  of  smiled  like,  and  said  it  was  the  Lord's 
prayer  I  referred  to,  and  he  had  used  it  that  very 
first  Sunday  he  was  here,  and  'spected  to  use  it  the 
last.  But  la  me  !  I  thought  he  was  only  skeered  get- 
tin'  up  before  us  all  the  first  time,  and  could'nt  think 
of  a  better  one,  for  he  looked  awful  young  ;  and  here 
he's  been  usin'  it  ever  since.  Now  I'd  like  to  know 
what's  the  use  to  pay  a  man  for  comin'  here  and  say- 
in'  a  prayer  that's  in  the  Testament  not  fur  from  the 
beginnin'  of  the  book,  where  we  can  read  it  fur  our- 
selves. I  think  a  man  that's  been  through  two  col- 
leges oughter  be  more  originaler." 

"  Mr.  Bilger  '11  just  suit  you,  Mrs.  Rowser,"  said 
Miss  Smartley.  "  He  went  in  the  seminary  before  he 
he  was  half  through  college,  and  got  out  of  that  in 
less  than  a  year.  Says  he  don't  believe  in  a  man  of 
talents  spendin'  a  lifetime  in  gettin'  ready  to  preach. 
He  know'd  all  of  Byron  and  Spearshake  long  ago, 
and  makes  eloquent  prayers." 

"There  ain't  no  doubt  but  Meagre's  prayers  is 
very  childish,"  said  Miss  Polly  Perkins.  "That 
Lord's  prayer  I  thot  was  only  'ntended  for  children 


NEEDLES    AND    THORNS.  357 

before  they  went  to  bed.  And  then  that  possle's 
creed's  as  old  as  the  hills.  Mother's  grandmother 
larnt  it  to  her,  and  she  'peated  it  just  before  she 
died,  and  said  it  was  a  comfort  to  her,  and  everybody 
knows  she  was  childish  —  that  is  about  prayers.  She 
was  sensible  to  the  last  'bout  everything  else,  for 
when  I  axed  her  if  I  could'nt  have  the  feather  bed 
being  as  Nancy  got  the  bolt  of  toe  linen,  she  said  'yes, 
only  love  one  another,'  just  as  plain  as  could  be,  and 
that's  why  I  swore  in  court  she  had  her  right  mind, 
as  I  told  Mike  Stoner  when  we  was  talkin'  about  them 
prayers  and  he  axed  me.  Mike  said  Meagre  owned 
up  the  prayers  was  childlike,  but  said  that  was  differ- 
ent from  bein'  childish.' 

"You  just  'spress  my  ideas,  Polly,  'bout  them 
prayers  bein'  childish,"  said  Miss  Margaret  Boltou. 
"  Goodness  knows,  all  the  children  Meagre  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  knows  'em.  There  was  little  Mary, 
John's  little  gal,  had  'em  pat  as  you  please,  and  she 
said  'em  before  she  died  just  like  your  mother.  Be- 
lieve me  or  not,  that  child  died  in  Meagre's  arms. 
I'll  jist  tell  you  how  it  was.  You  know  Meagre  al- 
ways was  fond  of  Mary,  'specially  after  her  mother 
died,  and  often  come  and  took  her  when  he  went 
walking,  and  he  come  to  see  her  directly  he  heard  she 
had  the  scarlet  fever.  I  'spect  he  had  a  notion  she 
would'nt  live ;  believe  the  doctor  'fided  everything  to 
him,  cause  he  was  good  at  givin'  medicine  and  'nus- 
in'  sick  people.  Well,  he  was  with  little  Mary  most 
all  the  time,  and  that  night  that  she  died  he  said  he 


358  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

would  mind  her  while  me  and  John  went  to  supper, 
and  when  we  come  up  he  was  prayin',  and  nobody  to 
hear  him  but  that  child,  and  don't  you  think  she  was 
sayin'  that  possle's  creed  with  him !  Only  to  think 
of  it,  and  she  was'nt  more  nor  five  years  old.  Well, 
presently  she  wanted  to  go  to  him,,  and  he  never 
seemed  to  think  of  that  new  coat  of  his'n  till  it  was 
all  spiled,  he  was  so  taken  up  like,  and  his  fingers 
was  all  sore  wipin'  the  poor  little  thing's  mouth  — 
scarlet  fever's  so  bad,  you  know.  Well,  the  tears 
rolled  down  Meagre's  cheeks  till  Mary's  sufferins  was 
over,  and  then  he  closed  her  eyes,  and  smiled  and 
said  she  was  with  her  Saviour  and  her  mother.  But  I 
always  did  partly  blame  Anna  —  that's  John's  wife  — 
for  Mary's  knowin'  them  prayers.  You  see  Meagre 
come  to  see  Anna  every  day  when  she  had  consump- 
tion, and  fotch  her  books  and  flowers,  and  read  and 
talked  to  her  'bout  the  clouds  when  the  sun  was  set- 
tin',  and  'bout  heaven.  He  fotch  her  a  book  called 
Literature  —  had  prayers  in  for  when  you  got  awake 
at  night  and  for  all  times — from  the  Psalms  like,  and 
Anna  'fused  some  of  them  things  into  Mary.  You 
see  Meagre  had  an  idea  that  John's  wife  was  refined 
and  interestin'  above  her  station,  and  fetched  some 
of  the  quality  gals  in  town  to  see  her.  They  say 
there's  papers  in  a  court-house  somewhere  showin' 
that  Anna's  parents  died  when  she  was  a  baby,  and 
her  step-uncle  gambled  away  her  fortune  and  put  her 
in  an  Orphan  'sylum.  He  killed  himself  afterwards, 
and  left  that  ivory  picture  Anna  had  with  the  'sylurn 


NEEDLES    AND    THORNS.  359 

keeper  for  her.  The  letter  that  was  sent  with  it  said 
it  was  her  mother,  and  I  'spect  it  was,  for  John's  wife 
favored  it  as  much  as  little  Mary  favored  her.  Well, 
when  Anna  was  dyin'  she  got  Meagre  to  hold  Mary  up 
till  she  put  it  on  her  neck.  'Twas  as  much  ae  Meagre 
could  do,  too.  I  tell  you  he  don't  always  smile,  for 
directly  John's  wife  was  dead,  he  went  out  behind 
the  rose-bush  and  cried  till  he  shook  like  a  leaf.  But 
them  prayers  that  Anna  and  Mary  both  said  when 
they  was  dyin'  fotch  this  all  up." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Tracy  Trotter,  "my  beau  ideal 
of  prayers  is  them  offered  by  Mr.  Fulmer,  the  young 
Methodist  minister  in  the  country." 

"  He  can't  beat  Mr.  Bilger,"  said  Miss  Smartley, 
excitedly. 

"0  Dora  Smartley!"  exclaimed  Miss  Trotter, 
"  that  Bilger  seems  to  be  settin'  you  crazy.  What  in 
the  world  are  you  siggerin'  about,  'Tilda  Tilt  ?  recon* 
cause  people  will  say  Mr.  Fulmer's  payin'  'tention  to 
me,  I  can't  speak  the  truth  about  him.  But  who  has 
a  better  right  to  judge  than  I  have,  when  he  boards 
at  my  sister's,  and  I  am  out  there  half  of  my  time?" 

"ODora,"  said  Miss  Tilt,  with  a  wink,  "you  know 
Rev.  Dickerson  Carlisle,  here  in  town,  has  been  over 
there  to  Araby,  where  Moses,  and  Aaron,  and  Deuter- 
onomy and  all  them  lived,  and  he  said  he  only  saw  one 
thing  in  all  his  journey  that  'minded  him  of  Fulmer.  It 
was  an  animal  with  ears  so  big  it  could  most  lay  down 
on  one  and  use  the  other  for  a  coverlet.  And,  what's 


860  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

more,  they  say  Rev.  Asbury  Coke,  the  presidin'  elder, 
ain't  goin'  to  recommend  him  to  the  conference. " 

"  Carlisle  and  Coke's  both  jealous  of  Fulmer  cause 
he  ain't  college  bred,"  said  Miss  Trotter.  "  Here's 
this  great  young  Mr.  Steady  ain't  college  bred  neither, 
and  they  make  fuss  enough  over  him." 

"  That  only  shows  they  ain't  prejudiced  agin  young 
men,  cause  they  hav'nt  had  a  good  chance  if  they 
have  religion  and  common  sense.  Heard  'em  say  at 
the  Young  Men's  Christian  'sociation  that  some  of 
their  best  men  were  self-made,"  said  Miss  Tilt. 

"I  don't  care  what  they  said.  Mr.  Fulmer's  got 
more  brains  than  all  the  preachers  in  these  parts," 
said  Miss  Trotter.  "  La  me !  that  time  old  Mrs.  Low 
got  throw'd  out  of  the  wagon  and  killed,  he  did  give 
us  a  beautiful  prayer.  He  told  us  more  about  Mrs. 
Low  in.  that  one  prayer  than  Meagre,  or  Kay,  or 
Carlisle 'd  a  told  in  a  week.  I  never  did  like  Mrs. 
Low,  that's  to  'sociate  with,  till  I  heard  that  prayer, 
and  then  I  did  say  she  was  put  in  jail  wrong.  Then 
Mr.  Fulmer's  sermon  was  so  affectin'.  He  said  he 
never  rubbed  his  back  agin  a  college ;  he  was  led  by 
the  spirit ;  and,  believe  me  or  not,  when  he  said  he 
hoped  we'd  all  live  as  Mrs.  Low  lived,  and  die  as  she 
died,  there  was'nt  a  dry  eye  in  the  house." 

"Recon'  if  you'd  live  like  she  lived,  you'd  be  parted 
from  your  husband,  and  go  to  jail  for  stealin'  roast- 
ing' ears,"  said  Miss  Smartley. 

"And  if  you'd  die  as  she  died,  you'd  get  your 
neck  broke,"  said  Miss  Tilt. 


NKEDLES     AND     THORNS.  361 

"0  'Tilda,  how  stupid  you  are,"  said  Miss  Trotter. 
"Everybody  knows  Mr.  Fulmer  meant  spiritual  death." 

"  Come  to  think  about  it,  that  does  make  it  better," 
said  Miss  Tilt,  ironically. 

"Well,  'Tilda,  think  before  you  speak  next  time. 
And  as  for  you,  Miss  Smartley,  I  thank  my  stars  I 
ain't  got  no  husband." 

"  Or  you  would 'nt  be  so  crazy  after  Fulmer,"  re- 
joined Miss  Smartley. 

"  Well,  I  don't  care  what  you  say.  Carlisle  is  pre- 
judiced, for  he  was  at  Mrs.  Low's  funeral,  and  when 
Mr.  Fulmer  preached  and  prayed  so  purty  about  her, 
he  seemed  onrestless  as  our  Phil,  when  a  circus  is 
a  comin',  and  he  ain't  got  no  money  to  go  to  it;  and 
he  never  said  'Amen '  onst,  but  just  looked  up  at  the 
ceiling  wild  like.  But  when  I  die  I  want  Mr.  Fulmer 
to  prc  ach  my  funeral,  and  then  I'll  be  sure  to  die  the 
death  of  the  righteous." 

"Well,  for  my  part,"  said  Mrs.  Strapiron,  "I  don't 
care  what  kind  of  prayers  Meagre  uses.  I  never  was 
much  for  prayers,  and  think  if  a  body  goes  to  meetin' 
reg'lar  and  hears  the  sarmon,  it's  enough.  No  doubt 
them  prayers  is  childish  though,  for  our  children's 
lips  is  movin'  when  Meagre  ses  'em.  I  punched  Stephe 
with  my  parasol  one  day  and  made  him  be  still,  but 
he  went  to  sleep  then  and  fell  off  the  bench,  so  I 
thought  I'd  let  him  go  on  with  his  foolishness,  if  he 
did'nt  disturb  his  pap  by  it.  You  know  his  pap  works 
hard  all  week,  and  looks  on  Sunday  as  a  day  of  rest. 
But  what  I  do  object  to  in  Meagre  is  his  'tentions  to 
31 


362  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

trash.  He  goes  round  to  old  Mrs.  Sweitzer's  every 
week,  and  tries  to  read  the  Dutch  Bible  to  her ;  and 
one  day  Stephe  was  bringin'  the  cow,  and  he  peeped 
thro'  the  palins  and  saw  Meagre  and  the  old  woman 
on  their  knees  under  the  hop-arbor  side  the  house, 
and  Meagre  was  readin'  a  Dutch  prayer.  Recon'  he 
did'nt  know  one  by  heart,  cause  he  ain't  as  far  larnt 
yit  as  Kay,  but  I  thot  if  he  spent  his  time  that  way, 
among  such  people,  it  was'nt  no  wonder  he  had  to 
speak  an  old  sarmon  that  time  everybody  said  it  was 
the  best  one  he  ever  spoke." 

"  Goin'  among  trash  ain't  nothing  for  Meagre.  He 
ain't  nigh  as  select  as  Mr.  Bilger,"  said  Miss  Smartley. 

"No,  nor  as  Mr.  Fulmer  neither,"  said  Miss  Trot- 
ter. "  La  me  !  that  mornin'  Bill  Tuttle  fell  down  in 
the  street  with  cholera,  me  and  Mr.  Fulmer  was  just 
comin'  past,  and  I  tell  you  we  got  out  of  the  way. 
But  the  first  person  young  Doctor  Randal  sent  for 
was  Meagre,  and  they  say  them  two  had  their  coats 
off  all  that  day  rubbin'  Bill  before  the  cramp  left  him. 
Mr.  Fulmer  said  afterwards  he  was'nt  bound  to  risk 
his  life  for  everybody,  even  if  Coke  did  say  he  dis- 
graced himself." 

"  One  thing  makes  me  mad  at  Meagre,"  said  Miss 
Lydia  Huggermugger.  "You  know  after  Hugenot 
went  away,  we  had  the  pulpit  painted  blue  and  pink, 
and  here  when  the  church  was  fixed  Mr.  Petit  Meagre 
had  it  painted  white  again." 

"I  think  I  could  get  our  pastor  to  correct  all  the 


NEEDLES     AND     THOKNS.  363 

things    you  complain  of,  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  Popple. 
"You  know  he  often  asks  ray  advice." 

"  Mrs.  Popple,"  said  Mrs.  Strapiron,  "  'spose  me 
and  you  and  Mrs.  McAndlish  forms  a  committee  to 
ax  Meagre  'bout  the  way  that  pulpit's  painted. 

"  I  won't  sarve,"  said  Mrs.  McAndlish.  "  Tried  to 
lecture  Meagre  this  afternoon  'bout  passin'  our  house 
last  Monday  without  callin',  but  he  shut  me  up  by 
sayin'  I  once  made  him  promise  not  to  call  on  wash- 
day. He  was  very  per  lite,  but  you  don't  catch  me 
'tackin'  him  agin." 

"I'll  go  on  the  committee,"  said  Miss  Languish ; 
"I  would  like  to  ax  Meagre  what  he  knows  about 
colors." 

"Well,  then,  we  three's  the  committee,"  said  Mrs. 
Strapiron.  "But  it's  time  to  adjourn  now." 

And  the  society  did  adjourn,  all  the  members  say- 
ing they  had  spent  a  delightful  evening. 

It  may  be  stated  here,  by  way  of  parenthesis,  that 
the  above  named  committee  afterwards  called  on  the 
young  parson  —  tried  to  take  him  by  surprise,  so  as 
to  get  a  peep  into  his  room  in  which  it  was  said  there 
was  a  Brussels  carpet,  a  French  bedstead  with  a  white 
spread  on  it,  some  fine  pictures,  and  many  other  nice 
things.  Besides,  each  of  the  ladies  on  the  committee 
had  a  special  object  in  calling  on  Mr.  Meagre.  Mrs. 
Popple  had  spoken  so  much  of  her  influence  over 
the  "dear  little  preacher,"  that  she  at  last  fancied 
that  she  had  vast  power  with  him,  and  she  wished 
to  give  a  grand  demonstration  of  it.  Miss  Languish 


364  THE    YOUNG    PAKSON. 

wanted  to  give  his  reverence  a  cut  about  his  near- 
sightedness,  and  Mrs.  Strapiron  had  become  so  ac- 
customed to  bossing  her  husband,  that  she  thought 
she  could  play  the  same  game  with  her  pastor.  But 
Rev.  Petit  met  and  entertained  the  ladies  in  the  par- 
lor below  stairs ;  and  somehow  the  courage  with 
which  they  left  home  seemed  to  have  oozed  out  at  the 
end  of  their  fingers.  Mrs.  Popple  was  all  affability 
and  sweetness,  Miss  Languish  was  the  personification 
of  disdain,  and  Mrs.  Strapiron  wore  a  mingled  ex- 
pression of  anger  and  disappointment ;  but  neither  of 
them  introduced  the  business  that  brought  them  there, 
and  as  the  young  parson  was  not  bound  to  presume  that 
the  call  was  anything  but  a  social  one,  he  did  not  re- 
lieve their  embarrassment  by  doing  it  for  them :  he  was 
content  to  talk  pleasantly,  and  musingly  draw  a  lead- 
pencil  over  the  back  of  a  pamphlet  that  laid  on  the 
table  upon  which  his  right  arm  rested. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  the  committee  arose 
and  departed  without  saying  one  word  about  paint, 
prayers,  trash,  or  bleared  eyes.  The  report  made  to  the 
society  was,  that  there  was  "no  use  to  bite  on  a  file." 

The  next  day  a  piece  of  crumpled  buff  paper  was 
found  near  the  parlor  door.  Upon  it  were  drawings 
of  three  women.  One  was  trying  to  fold  a  frightened 
dove  to  her  breast ;  another  was  in  the  act  of  present- 
ing some  one  with  a  pair  of  spectacles ;  but  whether  the 
third  wore  horns,  the  "  deponent  saith  not."  Fortu- 
nately, the  drawings  were  so  poorly  executed  that  no 
one  could  recognize  any  likeness  between  them  and 
their  originals. 


THE     CHOIB. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE    CHOIR. 

IT  will  be  seen  from  the  last  chapter,  that  the  criti- 
cisms upon  the  Rev.  Petit  were  generally  what  an  in- 
telligent person  would  have  taken  as  the  highest  com- 
pliments to  his  ministry;  but  those  who  uttered  them 
did  not  know  this,  and  what  they  said  was  intended 
to  express  disapprobation,  so  that  the  Female  Sewing 
Society  was  a  thorn  in  the  young  man's  flesh. 

And  then  there  was  in  the  end  gallery  of  the  church 
an  acephalous  compound,  called  a  choir.  The  Rev. 
Petit  bad  tried  hard  to  correct  some  of  the  absurdities 
for  which  that  appliance  of  public  worship  had  long 
been  noted,  but  could  not  iron  out  all  the  wrinkles ; 
for  choirs  are  sensitive  things,  and  there  are  people 
all  the  world  over  who  cannot  be  induced  to  forego 
the  sublime,  in  order  to  avoid  the  ridiculous.  As  is 
usually  the  case,  some  of  the  best  people  of  the  con- 
gregation belonged  to  this  choir,  and  some  of  the 
most  troublesome.  Among  the  latter  class  was  Miss 
Lucinda  Pedal.  This  young  lady  had  a  remarkable 
voice,  for  which  she  deserved  about  as  much  credit  as 
she  did  for  the  color  of  her  hair ;  but  had  she  pos- 
sessed the  voice  of  an  angel,  no  one  would  have  cov- 
eted it,  if  with  the  voice  it  would  have  been  necessary 
31* 


366  THE    YOUNG     PARSOS, 

to  take  her  natural  disposition,  for  that  would  have 
been  to  dower  one's  days  with  the  well-known  propen- 
sities of  a  mule. 

One  Sunday  morning  the  aforesaid  choir  attempted 
to  render  a  modern  American  anthem,  with  all  the 
parts  and  complications  in  it  that  ever  a  musical 
genius  conceived  of.  The  piece  was  commenced  with 
a  gusto  that  would  have  startled  Julien  himself;  but 
just  one  minute  before  the  time  for  Miss  Pedal  to 
"  carry  her  solo,"  the  young  lady  got  stubborn  and 
would  not  sing  a  bit.  Of  course,  an  important  wheel 
was  gone,  and  the  whole  machine  stopped.  This  was  re- 
garded by  the  "audience  "  as  an  ordinary  breakdown  ; 
but  the  young  pastor  saw  at  once  that  there  was  some 
wrong  feeling  at  the  bottom  of  it,  and  preached  with 
a  heavy  heart. 

That  evening  and  the  next  Sunday  morning,  Miss 
Pedal  sat  down  with  the  congregation,  apparently  im- 
pressed with  the  idea  that  all  heaven  and  earth  were 
ready  to  put  on  mourning,  because  she  did  not  go  up 
stairs  and  sing. 

This  action  of  Miss  Pedal's  was,  of  course,  noticed 
by  the  congregation,  as  she  was  regarded  as  "one  of 
the  principal  ones  in  the  choir,"  and  some  injudicious 
person  dignified  the  matter  by  asking  "'Cinda"  the 
cause  of  it;  to  which  she  replied:  "Harriet  Meekly 
had  no  business  to  move  the  book  we  was  singin'  out 
of,  just  when  I  was  a  goin'  to  strike  in.  If  she 
could'nt  see,  she  might  have  got  another  one.  But  1 
show'd  'em  they  was  'pendent  on  me." 


THE     CHOIR.  367 

The  Rev.  Petit's  only  regret  was  that  Miss  Pedal 
did  not  get  mulish  a  few  minutes  sooner,  so  that  the 
whole  piece  could  have  been  omitted,  or  else  com- 
menced by  none  except  those  who  had  grace  enough 
not  to  cut  up  such  capers  in  what  purported  to  be  the 
worship  of  the  sanctuary.  And  he  certainly  would 
have  allowed  Miss  Lucinda  to  pout  until  she  was  sat- 
isfied ;  but  it  was  a  malignant  case  of  sinfulness  that 
expressed  itself  in  such  sulks  and  impudence  at  home, 
that  her  poor  old  mother  had  to  appeal  to  her  pastor 
for  redress,  and  besides,  quite  a  number  of  the  mem- 
bers of  the  church,  young  and  old,  made  the  infini- 
tesimal affair,  an  occasion  for  a  quarrel  that  threat- 
ened the  peace  of  the  congregation.  Then  the  young 
parson  was  forced  to  take  notice  of  it ;  and  when  his 
gentle  remonstrance  failed,  he  was  obliged  to  remind 
his  people  that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  church  dis- 
cipline. When  the  power  of  the  keys  was  tallied 
about,  old  John  Flailer,  who  was  distinguished  for  his 
severity  in  all  his  talk  and  actions,  showed  a  disposition 
to  kick  the  traces,  saying:  "It  is  none  of  Mea- 
gre's  bisness  how  much  the  members  of  the  church 
fights."  Yea,  he  grew  quite  Hudibrastic  behind  his 
pastor's  back,  threatening 

"  To  prove  the  doctrine  orthodox, 
By  Apostolic  blows  and  knocks." 

As,  however,  there  was  a  long  score  against  Mr.  Flai- 
ler himself,  and  as  he  was  aware  that  his  pastor  had 
constitutional  authority  to  exercise  the  discipline  alone, 


368  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

if  his  vestry  refused  to  act,  the  old  gentlemen  grew 
wisely  meek  before  Rev.  Petit's  face,  and  the  whole 
excitement  was  soon  quelled. 

But  the  fragrance  of  the  young  functionary's  fidel- 
ity remained ;  and  afterward,  when  these  people  de- 
sired to  file  objections  against  him,  they  could  sing, 

"  Long,  long,  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  filled ! 
Like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  distill'd, 
You  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase,  if  you  will, 
But  the  scent  of  the  roses  will  hang  round  it  still." 


CHAPTER  L. 

THE    RESIGNATION. 

IT  may  be  inferred,  from  what  has  been  said  in  the 
last  two  chapters,  that  there  were  elements  at  work  at 
the  Grainfield  congregation  calculated  to  cause  the 
young  parson  some  annoyance.  True,  here,  as  is 
generally  the  case,  the  number  that  were  disaffected 
toward  him  bore  a  small  proportion  to  the  number 
that  were  not  only  satisfied  with  him,  but  greatly  at- 
tached to  him.  The  complaints  made  against  him, 
too,  were  just  the  same  that  had  been  made  against 
his  predecessor,  and  were  of  such  a  nature  as  to  give 
evidence  that  ignorance,  illiberality,  and  a  restless 
desire  for  change,  were  at  the  bottom  of  them. 


THE     RESIGNATION.  869 

Still,  these  few  persons,  owing  to  the  accident  of 
their  position  in  the  congregation,  had  succeeded  in 
wearing  out  and  worrying  away  better  pastors  than 
Rev.  Petit,  and  although  things  had  changed  some- 
what, they  might  have  made  him  succumb  in  the  end; 
for  the  processes  by  which  congregational  ills  are 
overcome  often  extend  through  long,  long  years,  and 
call  for  the  patient  endurance  and  sacrificing  toil  of 
a  goodly  succession  of  God's  servants. 

But  before  these  things  were  brought  to  bear  very 
heavily  on  the  young  parson,  he  accepted  a  call  to 
another  field  of  labor,  and,  of  course,  resigned  his 
pastorate  of  the  Gainfield  parish.  He  gave  notice  of 
his  intention  to  do  this  to  some  of  his  best  members, 
such  as  Mr.  Middleton,  some  time  before  he  announced 
it  publicly.  They  were  sorry  that  he  felt  it  his  duty 
to  do  so,  for  they  knew  how  warm  his  attachments 
were ;  but  they  had  an  intelligent  recognition  of  the 
circumstances  in  the  case,  and  acquiesced  in  it  with  be- 
coming spirit.  Some  there  were,  such  as  Mrs.  Ross 
and  David  Early,  who  looked  upon  it  simply  as  a 
great  bereavement,  and  had  more  difficulty  in  becom- 
ing reconciled  to  it.  How  it  affected  little  Phoebe  Ross 
need  not  be  told  again.  But  perhaps  few  persons  felt 
it  more  than  honest-hearted  Mike  Stoner.  Poor  fol- 
low !  he  seemed  to  be  conscious  that  in  many  instances 
his  pastor  had  been  ungenerously  dealt  with,  and 
spoke  of  it  freely. 

"Mr.  Meagre,"  he  said,  "wouldn't  never  a  left  us 
if  he'd  been  treated  right.  We  druv  him  away ;  and 


370  THE    YOUNG    PAESON. 

and  it's  enough  to  make  Tom  Hickman  turn  round  in 
his  grave." 

When  the  young  parson  told  the  people  at  Gain- 
field  that  he  was  about  to  preach  his  last  sermon  to 
them,  the  congregation  "hust  into  tears,"  and  none 
of  them  were  more  hysterical  than  those  who  had  pre- 
viously said  they  wished  he'd  go  away.  Some  very 
loud  sobs  came  from  the  direction  in  which  the  pews 
occupied  by  Mr.  Strapiron  and  Mr.  Flailer  were  situ- 
ated ;  and  when  the  choir  attempted  to  sing  a  parting 
ode,  Miss  Lucinda  Pedal,  who  had  gone  back  to  her 
place  voluntarily,  when  she  found  no  one  would  coax 
her,  broke  down  with  emotion.  But  it  was  too  late 
to  cry  then. 

Afterwards  the  "Female  Sewing  Society"  met  and 
voted  their  "beloved  pastor"  a  pincushion  that  had 
been  left  on  hand  —  a  monument  of  congregational 
attachment  that  Rev.  Petit  unfortunately  lost  in  the 
process  of  packing  up  his  books  and  dry  goods. 

Mr.  Meagre  did  not  leave  his  first  charge  without 
sincere  regret.  His  heart  bled  to  say  good-bye  to  the 
dear  friends  mentioned  in  this  work,  and  many  others 
whose  names  have  here  found  no  record.  Yea,  he 
found  it  hard  to  leave  even  those  who  had  given  him 
so  much  trouble.  He  had  labored  for  and  endured 
with  them  so  long,  that  it  had  become  a  second  nature 
to  do  so  ;  and  his  ministry  among  them  had  for  him 
the  fascination  of  a  difficult  problem,  at  which  one 
has  worked  hard  and  dislikes  to  give  up,  although  its 
solution  may  be  intrusted  to  more  competent  hands. 


THE     RESIGNATION.  371 

He  had  gone  into  their  midst  determined  to  be  en- 
tirely successful.  In  this  determination  there  may 
have  been  a  little  unconscious  self-reliance  which  his 
Master  saw  fit  to  rebuke. 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  the  young  parson  had 
much  to  be  thankful  for.  If  those  four  hundred  Sun- 
day sermons,  and  two  hundred  weekly  lectures,  and 
thousands  of  pastoral  visits,  with  frequent  private  ad- 
monitions and  consistorial  battles,  had  taxed  and 
strained  his  popularity  —  if  he  had  often  felt  con- 
strained, by  a  sense  of  duty,  to  do  what  people  liked 
him  a  little  less  for  doing,  he  had  carried  almost  every 
point  he  wished  to  carry  without  any  open  rupture, 
and  left  things  in  a  better  condition  than  he  had 
found  them.  The  outward  affairs  of  the  church  had 
been  vastly  improved,  the  number  of  members  had  al- 
most doubled,  and  the  internal  life  of  the  congrega- 
tion greatly  advanced.  Many  reputedly  queer  people 
had  been  won  not  only  to  him,  but  to  Christ  and  His 
cause ;  and  if  others  did  retain  their  annoying  pecu- 
liarities, these  were  beginning  to  be  entirely  under- 
stood, and  bid  fair  to  have  no  very  great  weight  with 
the  people  in  the  future.  Some  one  else  might  now 
enter  upon  his  labors,  and  carry  on  the  work,  even  as 
he  himself  had  entered  upon  the  labors  of  his  brethren 
who  had  preceded  him  there  in  the  ministry.  For  all 
of  this,  God's  name  alone  could  be  praised. 

Nor  was  the  young  parson  unmindful  of  the  fact, 
that  in  quitting  Gainfield  he  was  leaving  a  most  de- 
lightful community.  Nowhere  within  the  range  of  his 


372  THE    YOUNG     PARSON. 

observation  was  there  collected,  in  and  around  so 
small  a  place,  so  much  refined,  intelligent  Christian 
society.  Nowhere  had  more  courtesies  and  kindnesses 
been  extended  to  him.  He  had  found  in  these  more 
than  a  compensation  for  the  little  hardships  he  had 
endured  during  his  labors  there.  Thousands  of  times 
have  these  things  been  in  his  mind  since ;  and  as  often 
as  the  dear  friends  who  did  so  much  to  make  his  stay 
pleasant  have  been  remembered,  has  the  prayer  gone 
up  to  God  that  the  cup  of  cold  water  given*  to  the 
least  of  Christ's  disciples  might  not  go  unrewarded. 

Nor  has  he  prayed  for  these  alone.  Every  one  of 
his  own  members  has  been  remembered  at  the  throne 
of  Heavenly  grace.  Some  have  doubtless  passed 
away  from  earth,  but  should  he  ever  cross  the  path- 
way of  any  that  survive,  and  find  them  in  circum- 
stances of  sorrow  or  distress,  it  would  be  a  pleasure 
that  he  would  count  dear,  to  administer,  according  to 
the  best  of  his  abilities,  to  their  comfort  and  relief. 

Report  said  "Meagre's  a  goin'  to  git  married." 


CHAPTER  LI. 

BOWLINGS    AND    BLEATINGS    AFTER    A    SHEP- 
HERD. 

THE  young  parson  received  an  occasional  letter 
from  the  people  to  whom  he  had  ministered  in  the  Gain- 
field  parish,  showing  that  they  held  him  in  remem- 


BOWLINGS  AFTER  A  SHEPHERD.    373 

brance.     A  very  few  are  here  copied  as  representa- 
tive documents. 

"GxiNFiELD,  April  6M,  18 . 

"REV.  MR.  MEAGRE:— 

"  DEAR  SIR— Old  widow  GrabePs  rent  has  run  up  to  $  16  50,  not 
a  cent  having  been  paid  since  you  left  here,  and  I  write  to  know 
if  you  will  not  settle  it,  and  give  me  some  security  for  the  future. 

"  I  know  you  are  under  no  legal  obligation  to  pay  it,  as  you  said 
you  could  not  be  responsible  after  you  resigned  here ;  but  you  al- 
ways p;ii-i  it  so  punctually,  that  I  thought  I  might  appeal  to  your 
Christian  generosity.  This  is  all  the  more  necessary,  as  the  heirs 
of  that  estate,  although  rich,  are  disposed  to  hold  me  for  all  losses 
on  the  houses  I  rent  for  them,  and  the  amount  may  come  out  of 
my  commissions. 

"  I  send  you  a  few  of  my  cards,  thinking  that  if  you  use  your 
ministerial  influence  you  can  send  me  some  business.  You  see  I've 
taken  the  liberty  to  put  your  name  on  my  card,  for  reference,  as, 
although  no  member  of  any  church,  I  attended  your  preaching  as 
often  as  any  other. 

"  Hoping  to  hear  from  you  soon, 

"Yours,  &c.,  A.  SHAVER,  Collector" 

As  Mr.  Shaver  was  a  notorious  rascal,  who  made 
large  profit*  by  grinding  the  poor,  Rev.  Petit  did  not 
think  it  belonged  to  Christian  generosity  to  cover  his 
losses.  The  only  reply  the  young  parson  gave  to  the 
letter  was  made  by  sending  an  old  copy  of  the  Gain- 
field  Gazette,  in  which  the  death  of  Mrs.  Grabel  was 
announced  as  having  taken  place  a  few  weeks  after  he 
had  left  the  place. 

The  second  letter  given  was  a  characteristic  one, 

and  would  have  been  laughable  enough,'  but  for  the 

fact  that  it  breathed  a  wrong  spirit  and  told  a  sad  tale 

of  disobedience,  a  broken  heart,  and  a  neglected  boy. 

32 


374  THE     YOUNG     PARSON. 

"  GAINFIELD,  January  18th,  18 . 

"  DEER  BHOTHER  MEAGRE, 

"  I  take  my  pen  to  inform  you  we  is  well,  and  hopping  these  few 
lines  may  find  you  enjoyin'  helth,  and  I  want  you  to  lend  me  a 
hundred  dollars,  as  I  'tend  to  open  a  little  flour  and  feed  store, 
and  also  a  little  coal  yarde  in  this  place.  We  had  purty  bad  luck, 
our  Bill  and  'Cinda  Pedal  run  off  to  state  line  and  got  marrit  un- 
beknowu's  to  us-JCjnda's  mother  tuck  right  to  her  bed,  and  never 
got  up  agin,  stTedied  of  wexation,  which  was  very  foolish.  No- 
body didn't  catch  me  dyin'  for  them  pesky  things,  for  I  was  too  all- 
fired  mad,  and  if  I'd  had  my  way,  they'd  bothe  been  expelled  out 
of  meeting  long  ago.  They  never  was  fit  to  be  in  it,  and  'Cinda 
give  us  a  heap  of  trouble  'bout  her  not  singin'  that  time,  and  her 
and  Bill's  both  bound  to  sup  sorrow  with  a  big  spoon. 

"  These  feller's  up  here  ain't  doin'  any  better  nor  when  you  was 
here,  and  none  of  'em  ain't  got  enny  religion,  and  I  hope  you'll 
send  that  money  by  Satterday,  bein'  as  your  gettin'  a  thumpin' 
big  salry,  and  I  promist  the  money  on  Satterday,  and  don't  think 
enny  man  onghter  disappint  the  public. 

"  No  news  'cept  young  Dick  Spaddle  dide  last  week  and  was  hol- 
lerin'  for  you  all  the  time,  and  wanted  'em  to  send  for  'nother 
minister,  but  they  thot  he  was  crazy,  bein'  he  had  the  brain  fever, 
and  Doctor  Hale  gave  'em  fits,  'cause  they  did'nt  let  him  know  the 
boy  was  sick  'fore  he  was  ded.  Please  send  the  money. 
"  Yourn  everlastinly  in  Gospel  chains. 

"  JOHN  FLAILER." 

The  following  might  be  denominated  a  business 
letter: 

"  MR.  PETIT  MEAGRE  : — 

"DEAR  SIR: — Once  at  a  vestry  meeting  held  in  church  just  be- 
fore you  went  on  that  collecting  trip,  you  proposed  that  we  should 
get  a  sexton,  and  said  that  sooner  than  have  the  church  so  dirty  you 
would  pay  part  of  the  cost  yourself.  Father  then  employed  old  Fritz 
Nathans  to  tend  the  meeting-house  for  three  months,  till  you  made 
other  arrangements ;  but  as  father  employed  Fritz,  he  had  to  pay 


BOWLINGS    AFTER    A    SHEPHERD.        375 

him,  and  now  I  write  for  you  to  refund  the  money  to  the  heirs,  as 
father  is  no  more,  and  we  are  settling  up  the  estate. 

"  The  old  man's  estate  turns  out  bully.  Us  two  children  will 
get  nigh  on  to  six  thousand  dollars  apiece,  without  the  widow's 
dowry,  and  all  the  debts  are  good  except  yours,  and  that  ain't 
heard  from.  Father  must  have  been  a  good  business  man  to  hoard 
up  so  much,  and  nobody  knowed  he  had  so  much  good  paper  bear- 
ing interest. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  all  the  stores  in  the  city,  and  see  where 
you  can  get  the  cheapest  and  best  silk  hats,  and  send  me  one ;  and 
if  it  fits  and  suits  me  in  every  respect,  I  will  pay  you  for  it  one  of 
these  days  when  times  get  easier. 

"  Please  send  the  sexton  money  by  mail.     I  most  forgot  to  say 
it  is  $  9.    We  took  fifty  cents  off  as  you  only  promised  to  pay  part 
of  it,  and  we  want  to  be  honest  and  liberal. 
"Yours,  truly, 

"  CONRAD  HOGOEBMCCIGER,  Executor." 

This  letter  was  answered  by  transmitting  to  Mr. 
Huggermugger  the  original  receipt,  given  to  his  father 
by  Fritz  Nathans,  which  had  been  countersigned  and 
paid  over  to  the  young  parson  in  lieu  of  so  much 
money,  when  the  next  instalment  of  his  salary  should 
have  been  paid  —  all  his  reverence  got  at  the  end  of 
that  quarter  —  except  seventeen  dollars  and  sixty- 
two  cents. 

Mr.  Huggermugger  wrote  back,  that  the  old  man  must 
have  been  in  his  dotage  when  he  countersigned  that 
receipt,  and  that  it  was  no  wonder  he  ended  his  long 
life  with  only  sixteen  thousand  dollars. 

The  young  parson  thought  the  old  man  had  been 
sharp  as  a  steel  trap  in  the  transaction  referred  to, 
and  that  such  sharpness  accounted  for  the  "large 
amount  of  good  paper  bearing  interest  "  that  he  had 


376  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

"hoarded,"  but  that  the  "bully  estate"  left  to  his 
son  had  made  Conrad  feel  like  Oliver  Twist,  when  he 
asked  for  "more." 

The  next  letter  was  an  official  one.  It  was  written 
by  a  man  thirty  years  old,  but  looked  as  if  it  came 
from  the  pen  of  a  boy  of  ten,  who  had  his  one  foot 
under  him  on  the  chair  and  his  tongue  out  when  he 
wrote  it.  Here  it  is : 

"GAIMFIELD,  Feb.  14th,  18 . 

"DEER  OLD  PASTURE : 

"  Rer.  Calvin  Stringent,  clerk  of  Cynod,  writ  us  aa  episel,  say- 
in'  if  yor  salry  win-sent  pade  soon  the  subgect  wood  be  took  notis 
of.  Now  don't  be  hard  on  us.  We  are  gittin'  up  a  faire  fur  the 
22,  and  if  its  publist  that  the  money's  fur  you,  your  rich  friends 
will  soon  paternize  us  enuf  to  raise  the  rocks.  Some  of  'em  'bout 
here  ses  it  would  be  nice  if  you'd  cend  on  reseat  fur  the  mony  aa 
a  volentine.  Yourn, 

"SAM.  HOLLAND,  fur  the  old  man  treasury." 

Imagine  the  young  man's  feelings  at  the  thought 
of  being  used  as  a  sick  baby  to  beg  by.  He  fancied 
he  saw  stuck  upon  all  the  lamp-posts  and  corners, 
and  stenciled  upon  the  board  fences  around  town,  to 
be  read  by  all  his  friends  and  reputed  sweet-hearts,  these 
words  :  "  Fair  for  the  benefit  of  Rev.  Petit  Meagre. 
As  this  young  brother  is  in  want,  it  is  hoped  that  his 
friends  will  be  liberal  in  their  patronage."  That  dose, 
and  self-respect  would  not  stay  on  the  same  stomach  ; 
so  he  went  to  Gainfield  in  time  to  prevent  any  such 
use  of  his  name,  and  the  Synod  afterwards  saw  him 
righted. 

The  letters  the  young  parson  received  were  not  all 


BLEATINGS    AFTER    A    SHEPHERD.       377 

like  those  just  given.    Two  or  three  of  another  stamp 
are  here  presented." 

"GAINFIELD,  June  IQth,  18 . 

"MY  BELOVED  PASTOR  —  I  write  to  let  you  know  we're  got  a 
whoppin'  big  baby,  and  we  are  very  thankful,  but  was  disappinted 
'cause  we  was  anxious  to  call  it  after  you,  and  it  turned  out  to  bo 
a  gal,  and  the  best  we  could  do  was  to  call  it  Kitty  Meagre  Stoner, 
and  it  is  very  pert,  and  Kitty  is  well  and  sends  her  best  respectfl 
to  you.  Mr.  Meagre,  one  of  the  last  things  you  done  here  was  to 
cut  off  a  piece  of  John  Bolton's  wife's  rose-bush,  and  plant  it  on 
her  grave,  and  it  grow'd  and  ia  bloomin',  and  we  planted  a  slip  on 
Tom  Hickman's  grave,  and  that's  bloomin'  also  —  we  watered  both 
of  them  for  the  sake  of  them  that's  gone,  and  for  your  sake,  and 
the  sake  of  the  blessed  Saviour,  and  I  am  gittiri'  over  your  goin' 
away,  as  I  think  the  Lord  intended  us  to  know  a  feller  mussent 
cluster  overly  much  around  a  man,  and  if  we  don't  meet  enny  more 
on  earth  I  hope  we  will  meet  in  heaven.  I  remain,  yours, 

'•MICHAEL  STONBR  and  KITTT  his  wife." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stoner  were  congratulated  by  return- 
ing mail.  But  here  is  another  letter,  dated : 

"ST.  Louis,  Mo.,  April  16fA. 
'•REV.  PETIT  MEAGRE: 

"  DEAR  SIR  — You  must  not  take  my  long  silence  as  an  evidence 
that  I  have  forgotten  you.  Under  God,  you  have  had  too  much  to 
do  with  my  history  to  admit  of  that.  Would  that  you  knew  how 
often  and  how  gratefully  I  think  of  you. 

"You  were  kind  enough  to  say  when  you  advised  me  to  come 
here,  that  everything  that  concerned  me  would  be  of  interest  to 
you,  and  so  I  must  tell  you  about  myself.  In  the  first  place,  I  took 
your  advice  and  did  not  connect  myself  with  a  well-established 
flourishing  congregation,  but  with  a  missionary  one  in  which  I 
would  have  something  to  do,  and  this  has  been  an  advantage  to  me. 

"I  got  a  class  in  the  Sunday  School  the  second  week  after  I  ar- 
rived here ;  and  only  think,  Mr.  Meagre,  I  have  since  been  elected 
a  member  of  the  vestry !     Of  course,  I  take  a  great  interest  in  our 
little  church,  and  hope  to  be  uwful  in  my  small  way.     Mr.  Blake 
32* 


378  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

is  my  pastor,  and  a  plain  common-sense  man  — just  such  a  one  as 
you  would  like. 

"In  the  second  place  I  got  work  immediately — was  engaged  for 
some  time  painting  boats  on  the  wharves,  but  quit  that  as  soon  as 
I  could  (last  November)  because  the  moral  surroundings  were  not 
good,  and  the  work  was  rough — nothing  but  deck  painting  at  that 
season,  which  did  not  suit  me.  You  know  I  am  a  little  ambitions 
in  my  trade. 

"Six  months  ago  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  have  some  fine 
graining  in  a  first-class  house  intrusted  to  me,  and  since  theti  I 
have  had  plenty  to  do,  as  my  boss  gave  me  the  direction  of  a  good 
deal  of  work,  and  has  since  opened  a  branch  shop  in  a  part  of  the 
city  remote  from  his  principal  place  of  business.  So  if  you  come 
here  you  will  see  my  name  on  a  shingle  with  Mr.  Bonar's. 

"  Thus  far  my  business  has  prospered.  Last  year  I  was  enabled 
to  take  a  $30  pew  and  pay  $100  toward  finishing  our  little 
church,  after  devoting  $  300  to  the  support  of  my  mother.  This 
year  I  hope  to  do  even  better. 

"  I  live  and  dress  plainly ;  have  a  little  room  in  which  I  spend 
my  evenings,  making  estimates  of  work,  reading  the  books  you 
recommended  to  me,  and  improving  my  mind  generally. 

"I  will  be  glad  to  hear  from  you,  and  delighted  to  see  you.  Pray 
for  me  nnd  believe  me, 

"Yours,  ever,  JAMES  GIBBS." 

It  may  have  been  an  impious  way  of  expressing  a 
holy  joy,  but  when  the  letter  was  received,  the  young 
parson's  first  impulse  was  to  throw  up  his  hat  and 
shout,  "  Hurrah  for  Jim  Gibbs  !  '  not  slothful  in  busi- 
ness, fervent  in  spirit,  serving  the  Lord.'"  A  year 
afterward  the  young  parson  received  a  letter  mailed 
at  Chicago,  111.,  which  looked  as  if  it  had  been  given 
to  some  person  to  carry  there  from  Missouri  in  his 
pocket.  It  contained  twenty  dollars,  purporting  to  be 
a  thank-offering,  and  was  anonymous.  An  examina- 


BLEATINGS    AFTER    A    SHEPHERD.        379 

tion  of  it  convinced  the  Rev.  Petit,  that  his  former 
young  friend,  of  crack-loo  notoriety,  had  made  a  poor 
attempt  at  disguising  his  hand-writing. 

About  two  years  after  Rev.  Petit  had  resigned  his 
first  charge,  he  was  filling  a  temporary  engagement 
in  a  large  city.  One  day,  late  in  the  month  of 
August,  he  was  sweltering  along  the  streets  toward 
the  post-office.  The  weather  was  so  warm  that  his 
veritable  silk  umbrella  scarcely  kept  him  from  melt- 
ing, and  he  longed  for  the  country,  where  nearly  all 
of  his  more  fortunate  professional  brethren  had  gone. 
He  had  not  yet  become  rich  enough  by  preaching  to 
buy  old  Mr.  Bingen's  place,  and  build  a  summer  resi- 
dence upon  it,  but  he  did  sigh  for  the  pleasant  shades 
and  cool  water  he  had  enjoyed  there,  the  only  time 
he  had  visited  it.  The  thought  of  the  place  brought 
to  his  mind  the  dear  Christian  friends  he  had  first 
met  there,  and  from  whom  he  had  not  heard  for  some 
months. 

As  a  sort  of  reward  for  his  walk,  as  he  thought, 
he  received  a  letter  that  day.  When  it  was  given 
him,  he  recognized  the  hand-writing  as  corresponding 
with  that  of  some  little  notes  ho  had  received  in  by- 
gone days,  only  now  it  was  a  trifle  more  free  and  care- 
less. Here,  however,  was  a  thick  package  that  re- 
quired two  post-stamps,  and  he  concluded  that  one 
of  his  "  early  friends  "  had  been  kind  enough  to  send 
him  a  book  mark.  He  hastily  tore  the  envelope,  and 
found  that  it  was  indeed  a  letter  —  a  long  one  cover- 


380  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

ing  two  large  sheets,  with  closely  written  matter.     It 
read  as  follows : 

"REV.  PETIT  MEAGKE: 

"DEAR  SIB— Our  dear  little  friend,  Phoebe  ROBS,  fell  asleep  in 
Jesus  on  the  evening  of  Thursday,  3d  inst.  She  did  not  die  in 
one  of  those  nervous  paroxysms,  to  which  she  was  subject,  as  we 
always  feared  she  would.  The  Heavenly  Father  spared  her  that. 
For  two  months  previous  to  her  decease,  she  was  entirely  free 
from  them,  and  from  any  bodily  suffering  whatever,  and  her  life 
went  out  at  last  like  a  lamp,  not  by  blast  or  violence,  but  for  want 
of  oil.  The  cessation  of  pain,  however,  was  itself  ominous,  and 
her  departure  was  not  unexpected  to  us. 

"I  need  hardly  tell  you  that  her  end  was  peace.  Such  a  calm 
joy  —  such  a  matter-of-fact  transition  from  the  church  militant  to 
the  church  triumphant  I  had  read  of,  but  never  witnessed  before. 
Would  that  you  could  have  been  here.  We  all  thought  of  you. 

"  On  the  day  she  died,  Mrs.  Middleton  and  I  were  sitting  by  her 
side.  We  thought  her  sleeping.  Presently  she  opened  her  eyes, 
and  said :  ' I  see'd  it.' 

"  'What  did  you  see,  Phoebe  ?'  I  asked. 

"'0,'  she  said,  'the  water-drops  of  my  baptism  —  them's  all 
jewels  in  the  sunlight  of  God's  face,  and  my  Heavenly  Father's 
goin'  to  put  them  on  my  head  for  a  crown  of  life.  And  all  the 
tears  that  I  cried,  and  the  sweat  that  looked  like  beads  when  I 
suffered,  them's  all  gems  shinin'  with  God's  glory.' 

"  Mrs.  Middleton  and  I  durst  not  exchange  glances,  and  had  to 
bite  our  lips  to  keep  from  sobbing  aloud.  '  Was  it  a  dream, 
Phoebe?' I  asked. 

"  'No,'  she  said,  with  a  sweet  assurance,  '  It  wasn't  a  dream.' 

"Her  mother,  who  came  in  about  that  time,  thought  her  mind 
wandered,  but  Mrs.  Middleton  and  I  thought  differently.  You 
know  we  think  with  you,  that  heaven  is  nearer  to  earth  than  some 
men  wot  of.  I  had  been  with  pa  among  the  sick  enough  to  know, 
by  Phoebe's  pulse,  that  life  was  ebbing  fast,  and  I  called  Mr.  Ross 
and  Mrs.  Early,  who  were  in  the  adjoining  room.  After  a  little 
while  she  bade  us  all  an  affectionate  farewell.  Her  appeal  to  her 
father  to  be  faithful  was  touching  in  the  extreme.  Among  other 


BLEATINGS    AFTEE    A    SHEPHERD.        381 

things,  she  said,  '  Tell  Mr.  Meagre  I'm  just  goin'  before,  and  can 
smile  on  him  when  I'm  a  goin',  the  same  as  if  he  was  here.' 

"A  few  moments  before  she  breathed  her  last,  she  said:  'God's 
shinin'  on  me  like  the  snn  shined  through  the  apple-trees  the 
mornin'  I  fust  went  to  church.  He's  smilin',  and  I  can  go  now  to 
the  upper  temple  to  be  a  stone  in  it.  Mr.  Meagre  and  David 
needn't  carry  me  now,  for  my  Saviour  will  raise  me  up  like  He 
did  the  poor  cripple  in  the  big  picture.  He'll  give  me  a  body  like 
His  own  glorious  body  ;  when  I  wakes  in  His  likeness  then,  I'll  be 
satisfied  then.  I'll  be  like  Him,  foe  I'll  see  Him  as  He  is.  Miss 
Mary,  sing 

"Changed  from  glory  unto  glory," 

like  you  did  the  fust  time  I  went  to  church  here  below.' 

"I  tried  to  sing  —  commenced,  but  my  heart  and  eyes  were  so 
full  that  I  faltered,  and  at  last  stopped  altogether.  It  made  no 
difference ;  the  humble  strain  was  taken  up  by  the  choir  of  saints 
and  angels,  for  the  gentle  spirit  of  our  little  sister  had  passed  from 
us  to  the  bosom  of  her  God.  '  Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in 
the  Lord,  from  henceforth:  yea,  saith  the  Spirit,  that  they  may 
rest  from  their  labors;  and  their  works  do  follow  them.' 

"We  arranged  the  funeral  according  to  some  of  the  customs  of 
the  primitive  church,  about  which  you  used  to  tell  Phoebe,  and 
about  which  she  loved  so  well  to  hear.  No  one  was  offended.  In- 
deed it  seemed  to  be  felt  proper  that  the  dear  child  should  be 
buried  with  offices  differing  a  little  from  the  barren  and  often  mean- 
ingless ceremonies  that  so  many  of  our  congregations  employ  in 
these  late  days.  The  chants  were  beautiful,  and  all  the  service 
well  rendered.  Mr.  Hugenot,  who  now  ministers  to  this  congre- 
gation statedly,  officiated.  He  gave  a  sermon  on  the  text,  'These 
are  they  which  came  out  of  grout  tribulation,  and  have  washed 
their  robes,  and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.'  The 
discourse  was  characterized  by  pious  fervor  and  extreme  simplicity. 
It  was  entirely  free  from  argument,  and  yet  what  was  said  Deemed 
to  authenticate  itself  to  the  minds  of  all  who  heard  it  No  wonder, 
when  Phoebts's  life  and  death  were  before  them. 

"Although  'dead,  she  yet  spenketh.'  You  may  have  henrd  that 
some  months  ugo  the  holiness  of  Phoebe's  life  wus  the  means  of 
bringing  her  father  to  the  foot  of  Jesus,  when  all  else  seemed  Jo 


882  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

have  failed ;  and  that  on  the  last  Sunday  that  she  attended  church, 
Mr.  Hugenot  baptized  him,  and  gave  him  the  communion  in  the 
presence  of  the  congregation.  They  tell  me  that  there  were  no 
dry  eyes  in  the  church  that  day,  except  the  little  girl's.  Her  face 
was  radiant  with  joy.  All  were  surprised  to  see  the  old  man  kneel- 
ing at  the  chancel,  except  her.  She  had  prayed  for  it  in  faith,  and 
looked  upon  it  as  a  matter  of  course.  Of  this  I  say  you  may  have 
heard,  but  you  may  not  have  heard  how  Phoebe's  death  has  im- 
pressed this  whole  community.  The  town  seems  lonely  now  that 
she  is  gone,  but  we  all  feel  as  if  her  spirit  is  still  hovering  over  us. 
The  moral  atmosphere  around  us  seems  to  be  roseate  with  the  flush 
of  her  triumph,  and  redolent  with  the  fragrance  of  her  piety.  A 
holy  solemnity  rests  upon  us  all.  The  roughest  men  in  the  neigh- 
borhood speak  in  subdued  tones,  as  if  they  were  afraid  of  frighten- 
ing something  away.  Mr.  Hugenot  is  here  taking  advantage  of  this 
state  of  things.  May  God  own  and  bless  his  labors! 

"  Let  me  tell  you  a  little  incident.  Mrs.  Middleton  and  I  have 
determined  to  make  the  place  where  little  Phoebe's  body  rests  a 
pleasant  spot  Old  Mr.  Ross  and  David  Early  insist  upon  doing 
the  work  for  us.  They  have  already  sodded  the  mound,  and  pre- 
pared the  ground  around  it  for  a  white  microphylla  rose  and  some 
heart's  ease.  Since  the  burial,  we  have  frequently  gone  to  the 
couch  of  the  little  saint,  when  the  day  dawned,  for  pious  medita- 
tions and  prayer,  always  taking  with  us  a  few  fresh  flowers  to 
leave  on  the  grave.  On  last  Sunday  morning  we  found  that  some 
one  had  anticipated  us  in  this  last  respect,  for  a  rude  wreath  of 
evergreens  was  lying  there. 

"  While  expressing  our  surprise,  we  discovered  Mrs.  Spotters 
sitting  behind  the  tall  head-stone  of  a  neighboring  grave.  The  poor 
woman,  all  unconscious  of  what  we  had  been  doing,  had  brought 
the  wreath  as  a  tribute  to  departed  worth,  but  said  that  she  had 
come  early,  so  that  no  one  would  see  her  do  it.  Then  she  threw 
herself  upon  the  grave,  and  said  that  she  had  sinned  against  Phoebe, 
and  knew  that  in  doing  so  she  had  sinned  against  Him  who  hnd 
said,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  to  the  least  of  my  disciples,  ye 
have  done  it  unto  me."  Once  she  had  looked  down  on  the  little  de- 
formed girl,  but  now  she  wished  she  could  be  a  cripple  all  her  life, 
so  that  she  could  share  Phoebe's  happiness. 


BLEATINGS    AFTER    A    SHEPHERD.       3«3 

"  Mrs.  Middleton  spoke  kindly  to  her  —  told  her  being  a  cripple 
could  not  make  her  what  Phoebe  was;  and  that  what  every  one 
loved  in  the  child  was  her  Christian  character.  'Such  a  character,' 
she  added,  of  course,  '  can  be  attained  only  through  faith  in  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.' 

"You  see  how  long  a  letter  I  have  written  you  with  mine  own 
hand,  but  the  duty  of  writing  has  been  assigned  to  me  by  common 
consent,  and  I  know  you  will  be  interested  in  the  details  of  the 
little  darling's  death,  however  inadequately  I  have  described  them. 
You  will  excuse  me,  too,  when  you  see  that  these  pages  have  been 
blistered  with  tears,  for  you  yourself  are  not  the  kind  of  a  philo- 
sopher that  can  dwell  on  these  things  with  dry  eyes. 

"  I  have  been  here  for  some  six  weeks.  Mr.  Holmes  ia  attending 
to  the  interests  of  a  client  in  Washington,  but  expects  to  join  me 
early  next  month.  In  his  last  letter  he  expressed  the  hope  that  I 
would  meet  you  here,  and  wished  that  you  could  await  his  arrival. 
Dear,  good  man !  he  always  flatters  himself  that  you  will  be  as 
enthusiastic  over  our  Charley  as  you  were  over  sister  Sue's  chil- 
dren. And  Charley  is  a  dear  little  fellow,  with  just  such  a  beau- 
tiful physical  conformation  as  used  to  set  you  wild.  O  how  thank- 
ful I  am  for  his  straight  limbs  and  grace  of  motion !  And  yet  I 
have  seen  such  an  illustration  of  the  power  of  redeeming  grace  in 
Phoebe,  that  I  will  ever  covet  that  as  the  best  gift  for  my  child. 

"  You  will,  of  course,  write  to  Mrs.  Ross.  Our  friends,  the  Mid- 
dleton's,  are  well,  and  send  love.  Mr.  Holmes's  address  is  Olen 
Rock  Station,  Marion  County. 

"Youra  in  the  Church, 

"MART  ARLINGTON  HOLMES. 

"PUMBKDITHA,  Auyutt  23d,  185-." 

Mr.  Meagre  not  only  wrote  to  Mrs.  Ross,  but  found 
time  to  visit  her  in  the  course  of  a  few  weeks.  The 
good  woman  was  glad  to  see  him.  A  warm  grasp  of 
hands  and  a  smile,  without  a  word  spoken  by  either, 
was  the  first  greeting.  Oh,  how  lonely  the  stone 
cottage  in  the  apple  orchard  seemed  now!  There 
stood  the  little  low-wheeled  chair  and  the  soft  pallet  }r— 


384  THE    YOUNG    PARSON. 

even  the  "warm  socks  made  out  of  list  "  were  lying  on 
the  bed ;  but  she  whose  patient  sufferings  had  made 
them  sacred  things,  was  gone. 

"  I  hope  you  are  comforted,  Mrs.  Ross,"  said  Mr. 
Meagre,  at  length  breaking  the  silence. 

"Comforted!"  exclaimed  she,  "Oh,  Mr.  Meagre, 
hasn't  God  brought  light  out  of  darkness  ?  'Seems 
as  if  my  heart  went  up  to  heaven's  gate  with  the 
spirit  of  my  child,  and  don't  want  to  come  back  any 
more.  And  oh,  sir,  how  my  baby,  as  I  always  called 
her,  loved  you  and  spoke  of  you.  If  there  is  such  a 
thing,  she's  smilin'  down  on  you  now" 

Rev.  Petit  attempted  some  reply,  but  his  feelings 
choked  his  utterance. 

Presently  Mrs.  Ross  put  on  a  sun-bonnet,  and 
quietly  beckoned  to  her  former  pastor  to  follow  her. 
She  led  him  through  a  back  gate  around  to  the  vil- 
lage church-yard,  and  conducted  him  to  the  fresh 
green  grave  that  contained  all  that  was  mortal  of  dear, 
dear  little  Phoebe.  And  there,  with  the  ashes  of  the 
sacrifice  at  his  feet,  thinking  of  Him,  the  incense  of 
Whose  merits  made  it  acceptable  to  God,  until  he 
almost  thought  he  saw  the  crowned  child  in  glory ; 
there,  with  bended  knee  and  uplifted  heart,  re-conse- 
crating himself  to  the  service  of  his  Lord  and  Master, 
praying  for  grace  and  strength  that  he  might  go  back 
to  his  work  a  more  devoted  man,  is  perhaps  the  most 
fitting  place  to  leave  the  "  YOUNG  PARSON." 


VALUABLE  BOOKS, 

PUBLISHED    BT 

SMITH,    ENGLISH    &    CO. 


BIBLE  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

With  an  Introduction  by  Rev.  R.  NKWTOK,  D.D.  12mo.  |1.25 
THE  LAST  TIMES. 

By  Rev.  J.  A.  Seres,  D.D.  12mo 1.25 

THE  PAEABLE  OF  THE  TEN  VIRGINS. 

By  Rev.  J.  A.  SBISS,  D.D.  12mo 75 

FLEMING'S  VOCABULARY  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

Edited  by  Rev.  C.  P.  KRAUTH,  D.D.  8vo 1.88 

COMMENTARY  ON  THE  SERMON  ON  THE  MOUNT. 

By  Dr.  A.  THOLOCK.  8vo 2.50 

COMMENTARY  ON  THE  BOOK  OF  ECCLESIASTE8,  &c. 

By  Dr.  E.W.  HENGSTENBBRQ.  STO 2.25 

PULPIT  THEMES  AND  PREACHER'S  ASSISTANT. 

Outlines  of  Sermons.  12mo 1.50 

SCIENCE  IN  THEOLOGY. 

By  A.  S.  FAHRAR,  M.A.,  Ac.  12mo 85 

THOLUCK  ON  THE  GOSPEL  OF  JOHN. 

Translated  by  Rev.  C.  P.  KRAUTH,  D.D.  8vo 2.25 

GRAMMAR  OF  THE  NE#  TESTAMENT  DICTION. 

By  Dr.  GEO.  BENEDICT  WINER.  8ro 3.50 

COMMENTARY  ON  THE  EPISTLE  TO  THE  GALATIANS. 

By  MARTIN  LUTHER.  12mo 1.25 

RELIGIOUS  CASES  OF  CONSCIENCE. 

By  Rev.  S.  PIKE  and  Rev.  8.  HAYWARD.  12mo 1.25 

HERMENEUTICAL  MANUAL. 

By  P.  FAIRBAIRN,  D.D.  12mo 1.50 

HELPS  FOR  THE  PULPIT. 

Sketches  and  Skeletons  of  Sermons.  12mo LM 

PRACTICAL  DISCOURSE  ON  GOD'S  SOVEREIGNTY. 

By  KI.ISHA  Coi,E8.  12mo '* 

1 


THE  LAST  TIMES, 

AMD 

THE    GREAT    CONSUMMATION: 

AN  EARNEST  DISCUSSION  OF  MOMENTOUS  THEMES. 

BY  JOSEPH  A.  SEISS,  D.D. 

AUTHOR  OP  "THE  GOSPEL  IN  LEVITICUS,"  "THE  PARABLE  OF  THE  TEN  VIEGINS,"  ETC., ETC. 
FIFTH  EDITION,  REVISED  AND  ENLARGED. 

12mo.  Cloth,  $1.25. 


"  The  work  of  Dr.  Seiss  has  met  with  distinguished  favor.  It  is  re- 
garded by  those  who  sympathize  with  its  views,  as  one  of  the  most  able, 
comprehensive,  and  powerful  works  called  forth  by  the  millenarian 
investigations  of  our  day.  The  author  has  rewrought  his  original  work, 
and  has  brought  up  its  reasonings  to  the  advanced  state  of  his  views 
upon  the  subject." — Lutheran  and  Missionary. 

"  To  those  who  wish  to  see  all  that  can  be  drawn  from  the  Bible  in 
favor  of  these  peculiar  views,  we  would  recommend  this  book  as  the 
most  valuable  known  to  us." — Christian  Times. 

"The  merits  of  Dr.  Seiss  as  a  Christian  writer  are  well-known  and 
generally  conceded.  His  style  is  neat,  chaste,  and  often  truly  ornate 
and  eloquent.  He  is  a  sound  thinker  and  laborious  investigator." — 
German  Reformed  Messenger. 

"Dr.  Seiss  is  an  attractive,  fervid,  eloquent  writer;  whatever  may  be 
your  opinion  on  the  subject  of  discussion,  you  feel  you  are  dealing  with 
an  earnest,  conscientious  man,  who  will  not  wilfully  lead  you  aatray. 
The  book  may  be  regarded  as  a  standard  in  its  department." — American 
Presbyterian. 

"  This  work  is  able  and  comprehensive,  and  richly  deserves  the  atten- 
tion of  both  friend  and  foe  who  wishes  to  know  what  can  be  said  in 
defence  of  pre-millenial  advent.  Although  differing  with  Dr.  Seiss 
upon  this  great  question,  still  we  always  read  his  works  with  interest 
and  pleasure,  for  his  spirit  is  warm  and  evangelical,  his  style  clear  and 
finished,  and  his  manner  of  discussion  able  and  instructive." — Christian 
Instructor. 

"  That  the  author  has  thoroughly  treated  his  subject,  and  has  a  deep 
conviction  of  the  truth  of  what  he  writes,  all  impartial  readers  will 
admit" — Presbyterian  Witness. 
2 


BIBLE  ILLUSTRATIONS: 

BEING   A   8TORBHOU8H   Of 

SIMILES,  ALLEGORIES  AND  ANECDOTES, 


SPENCER'S  "THINGS  NEW  AND  OLD," 

With  an  Introduction  by  the  BEY.  BICHABD  NEWTON,  D.D., 
and  a  Copious  Index. 

12mo,    Cloth,    $1.25. 


The  want  of  a  collection  of  really  good  Illustrations  of 
Bible  truth  has  long  been  expressed ;  yet  there  are  very  few 
books  in  this  particular  department  of  literature.  This  vol- 
ume aims  at  supplying  this  deficiency.  It  contains  illustra- 
tions of  more  than  two  hundred  important  topics  and  many 
striking  analogies,  borrowed  from  nature,  art,  history,  bio- 
graphy, anecdote,  and  simile,  by  various  Christian  authors  of 
all  countries  and  ages.  It  is  rich  in  fine  suggestive  thoughts ; 
and  at  the  end  of  each  illustration,  there  is  an  appropriate 
application.  An  ample  Index  adds  greatly  to  its  value. 


"A  fine  aid  for  the  preacher  of  the  Ooipel  in  the  way  of  llluitr*. 
tion." — German  Reformed  Mettvnger. 

"An  eminently  suggestive  work.   The  student  will  find  it  a  thesannu 
of  illustrations  of  moral  and  spiritual  truth."— Nm  York  Ewngtli*. 

"Altogether  the  best  book  of  the  kind  in  our  acquaintance,"- *>«• 
Prenbyterian. 
I 


RECOMMENDATIONS. 
"  It  is  the  book  for  spare  moments."—  Cumberland  Presbyterian. 

It  is  fall  of  practical  wisdom,  in  which  a  good  deal  of  wit  is  finely 
blended."—  The  Press. 

"  We  heartily  commend  this  volume  to  the  Lecturer  and  Teacher." — 
Episcopal  Recorder. 

"A  capital  book  for  Sabbath-school  Teachers  and  Superintendents." — 
Sunday-School  Times. 

"  Will  be  valued  especially  by  any  who  have  to  do  with  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  young." — Congregationalism 

"A  book  full  of  rich  Bible  illustrations,  alike  useful  to  the  minister 
of  the  Gospel  as  well  as  the  general  reader." — Christian  Instructor. 

"A  book  full  of  wisdom  and  of  the  happiest  illustrations  of  points  of 
doctrine  and  morals." — Rev.  Jos.  A.  Seiss,  D.D.,  Pastor  of  St.  John's  Lu- 
theran Church,  Phila. 

"  It  is  a  book  of  gnomes,  rich  in  old  gold,  and  seed  pearls." — Lutheran 
and  Missionary. 

"  It  is  impossible  not  to  commend  a  booik  like  this.  It  is  a  treasury 
of  spiritual  riches." — Rev.  J.  Newton  Brown,  D.D.,  Editor  of  the  Ency- 
clopedia of  Religious  Knowledge. 

"A  repository  of  much  valuable  thought"— Evangelical  Repository. 
"Its  selections  are  made  with  care,  and  much  taste  is  displayed 
throughout"—  Christian  Times. 

"A  storehouse  of  varied,  apt,  rich,  suggestive,  and  sound  illustrations 
of  religious  truth." — Rev.  J.  Edwards,  D.D.,  Pastor  of  the  West  Arch 
Street  Presbyterian  Church,  Phila. 

"We  think  the  Sabbath-school  teacher  especially  would  be  profited  by 
using  this  storehouse ;  and  many  of  the  anecdotes  will  help  to  point  the 
arrow  of  the  preacher." — Christian  Herald  and  Presbyterian  Recorder. 

"  The  similes  are  pointed,  the  allegories  are  graceful,  the  anecdotes  are 
happy." — Lutheran  Observer. 

4 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


APR  191988 


H 


